The New Unpertaining, Controversal Sherlock
by AwakeAtRidiculousAM
Summary: Sherlock's always been the best at nearly everything he did. This is annoying for Enna Burk. Both high functioning sociopaths and both consulting detectives means there is little work for Enna. Nobody wants second best! But out of nowhere, Sherlock is thrown off his game on an important case and Enna is called into help...I leave it to you to imagine what happens.
1. Chapter 1

"Burk, is that you?" Carrington asks as I close the door of my house being greeted by freshly painted walls. The smell was toxicating.

"Yes," I call out, observing the color of beige. "You plastered over the hole." I watch Carrington arise from the end of the hallway.

"Yes, it was hard might I add." He tells me walking over. He takes my coat and scarf, hanging them up in the closet. "You really need to aim better. Or not shoot guns off in the house."

"It's not my fault I have bad eye sight." I say in my defence, walking into the kitchen.

"Yeah? And it's not my fault you don't wear your glasses nor contacts." He retorts me. I rolls my eyes as I pick up a kiwi, cutting it with a knife. Soft green ooze and a large brown seed was in the centre.

"Seriously Carrington, warn me before I pick out a bad kiwi. It's gone rotten." I drop the knife and go to the sink to wash my hands.

"That was an avocado." Carrington say, almost sympathetically. I turn around wiping my hands in my pants and find him staring at me.

"Don't scrutinize me, I'm fine." I say. "I'm going to put my contacts in." I walk out of the kitchen, taking the rail as I find my way up the stairs. I get to my room and go to my dresser, hazily finding my contacts and unsteadily putting them in. Poking my eye once or twice in the midst. Blinking my eyes, my visions cleared. I observe my surroundings a little better then take a better look at myself in the mirror. I toss my dark brown hair over my shoulder and look a little closer to fix my eye liner.

"Burk!" Carrington yells.

"What?!" I call back, annoyed with yelling. There's no response. I walk to my door, sticking my head out into the hallway. "What?!" I call again.

"You have guests!" He replies. I go back to my dresser mirror again, brushing over my hair then going down the stairs.

When I get to the bottom and make my way to the entryway, I see DI Greg Lestrade. I turn to Carrington who is standing next to him, giving a questioning glance before turning back to Lestrade, straight faced. I look at him closely, it's obvious he's been working on something by the state of his clothes. But of course if he wasn't, why would he be here? Certainly not to 'catch up.'

"Hello Detective Inspector," I say, putting out a hand. He shakes it.

"Hello Enna." He smiles warmly. I return it falsely as he lets go of my hand.

"Carrington, go place tea in the kettle. We'll be in the study." I tell him, leading Lestrade to the study.

I open the french, sliding doors which lead to the far to big study. I mean, I didn't find it necessary to keep all my books in one spot, but I guess more convenient. I walk behind the desk and sit down. Lestrade sits in the chair in front of my desk.

"What can I do for you Lestrade?" I ask him, clearing away some papers.

"We need your help with a case." He says flat out. I stop, looking up but then continuing.

"And where is Sherlock? Did the case not interest him enough? Or was there not enough bodies?" I wonder as I Finnish clearing away the papers.

"No, Himself and John are working the case...But they need help." He says. This time I pause completely.

"Sherlock? Needs help?" I ask doubtfully.

"Help. A new set of eyes. An opinion. Anything." He is almost pleading now. "Enna, there are 5 dead, 3 being held hostage. This is beyond anything we've ever dealt with."

"Was Sherlock too ashamed to come to me himself?" I almost laugh. Obviously it wasn't a laughing situation. Or Lestrade just didn't get the joke.

"Basically." He replies. I stand and as I do so does he.

"I'll grab my coat. To warn you though, I'm not as great as the brilliant Sherlock." I say honestly. I knew that. Everyone did, that's why we never competed. Why we never worked the same case. If we did it would basically be him showing me up the whole time.

"Oh Enna, I won't ever be able to thank you enough." Lestrade says, following me out the study. I run into Carrington on the way.

"Burk, where are you off to?" He asks as I walk by him.

"Working a case. Don't wait up tonight." I tell him, walking to the door.

Lestrade hauls on his shoes and waits for me to grab his coat. As he's about to lean against the wall I catch him by the arm. He looks confused. I roll my eyes.

"Wet paint." I tell him. He forms an 'o' shape with his mouth as I haul my jacket on.

"Wait, Burk, dinner plans with Tucker tonight?" Carrington stops me on my way out the door.

"Cancel, I'm not passing up this." I tell him stepping down the stairs and right to Lestrade's car.

We arrived shortly at our destination, where the latest hostages were being held. Along the way, I was briefed on the case and informed all victims were forced to stand on the edge of building until the police successfully solved the puzzle and figured out who was doing it all. Each victim had 6 hours. When the police failed, they were forced to jump or were shot. Either way, they fell off the building. Arriving there, I saw him. Sherlock, that is. He looked a lot different then before. Of course we both went threw our deals of changes. Beside him, his colleague John Watson. Doctor John Watson. They were both chatting with an older woman who was in a disheveled mess. I look up to the three hostages standing on the building. Upon further observation I realized they were between ages sixteen and eighteen, two males one female.

"That woman is-" Lestrade starts but I felt the urge to interrupt.

"The girls mother. Not biological." I complete his sentence. He nods.

"Yeah, who told you?" He wonders. I start walking.

"Nobody had to," I respond, continuing to look up at the 3 standing on the roof. "It was simple to figure out." I look to Sherlock and he looks to me. He bids his far well (obviously not his condolences) to the mother and starts towards me.

"Enna Burk," He says. "I have the case under control, your presence is un-needed." I scoff.

"There was only a two body count when you were called in, Now there's a five and no sign of progress. My presence is very needed." I counter his insult. "Now, who are your leading suspects? How are the victims connected?"

"We have none and they aren't." He snaps. "He breaks into the tallest buildings, holding everyone hostage, taking one to three specifics and forcing them off the roof. No location connection, no connection at all."

"So what have you gathered?" I wonder, disappointed that he hasn't got anything leading to the capture of this guy.

"I don't like sharing my information with outsiders." He responds.

"I'm not an outsider I'm an allie. We are working together towards the same goal."

"I still don't see the point of sharing my information with-"

"Sherlock!" Lestrade yells. We both turn to him. "You're acting childish. Now, Tell her what you have found!" Sherlock glares and then proceeds to walk away, leaving John behind.

"Enna, I'm Dr. John Watson." John puts his hand out. I shake it. "We haven't found much, Sherlock thinks he could be involved with some sort of architecture career." I nod.

"Is that because he knows exactly where to be? So he isn't in sight but can watch the show? Is that you're theory?" I wonder. He nods. "Yeah that's what I was thinking. We should deduct it down, how many buildings in the area can see them standing on the building perfectly?"

"Only 4." Lestrade says. "Sherlock already got that, but we haven't been able to get it down any further."

"Well that's easy. He'ld want a view of the ground too." I say. "To make sure that nobody plots an inflatable or something to catch the victims as they fell."

"Wait, you said _he_. How can you be sure he's male?" John asks. "I mean, even Sherlock was having a hard time with that deduction."

"Well isn't it obvious? I listened to the phone call between Sherlock and the unknown on the way. The voice was disorientated but if it were female she would have dragged out her feelings. Try and make you feel her pain. _I _have watched you for days. _I _have had my heart ripped out of my chest. You will suffer like _I_ did. A male's would have been completely straight to the point. It is not a woman, it is a male. He straight out explained the 'game' to Sherlock without any notes of how he feels or his motives." I explain. Both Lestrade and John's mouth are wide open. I roll my eyes. "Don't act so surprised, this _is _why Sherlock and I don't get along."

"Yes, obviously." John laughs. "That's incredible. How long have you known about the case?"

"Not an hour." Lestrade gloats. "Alright, so are next move is to what?"

"Which of the buildings can see both, the roof and the ground?" I wonder. Lestrade and John think for a moment.

"The only one is there," Lestrade turns from the building with the three victims standing on it and across the street. A skyscraper was where he was pointing.

"Lock the building down," I say, starting across.

"Wait, Enna, how can you be sure?" He asks, following me. John follows too.

"Because I can. I'm no Sherlock Holmes but I am Enna Burk. That's pretty close might I add."

"Wait, I'll get Sherlock," Josh says.

"No time, only 15 minutes before the first victim drops. Call him and tell him to meet us over there," Lestrade says and then get's on his phone ordering a lock down on the building.

I walk inside and the boys lock the door tightly behind me. I look around. I realize that the man has to use a gun to shoot them down, so it's probably a sniper of some kind. I get down by the window and imagine holding a sniper. There's traffic lights in the way so he would have to be up higher. I turn to Lestrade and John.

"Nobody leaves, Sherlock is the only one who comes in." I say, not waiting for their approval but instead dashing up the stairs. I get to the second floor. No good, traffic lights still blocking.

Next floor, 13 minutes left. No good. Traffic lights. Fourth floor. Nope. Now only 3 more floors and then the roof.

"Burk?" Sherlock. I don't respond, instead go to the fifth floor. "Burk?" He calls out again. 9 minutes left. When I'm at the fifth floor I realize there isn't a window untill we get to the end of the hallway. I hear Sherlock's footsteps. I start my way down and when I get to the small window I realize that it's perfect. In plain sight but not obvious. The victims and the ground were visible. The other give away was the open window and the sniper leaning out. He had gotten away.

"Shit!" I curse.

"What is it?" I jump and turn. Sherlock. "He got away." He answers himself and then flings his head out the window, looking for any possible suspects. None by his expression. "How could you let him get away?!"

"Me?! I had him! You're yelling scared him off!" I yell, frustrated.

Sherlock opens his mouth but a cell phone's ring cuts him off. I look to where the noise is coming from and realize it's in the corner. The number blocked. I flash him the screen a moment before answering and placing it on speaker phone.

"Hello?" I ask. Silence. "Hell-"

"So this isn't Sherlock Holmes. Funny I thought he would have figured it out." A male's voice speaks. I realize then that this is the guy.

"Who's speaking?" I ask.

"Oh now that would be no fun. I'll credit you though, you were close...A little too close for my likings. But I realize the game is probably too advanced for you...For both of you. So, Here's my voice. My real voice." He says.

"Why would I believe that?" I wonder sceptically. His deep voice chuckles over the phone.

"I like the game to be entertaining. Watching Sherlock run around blindly is unfair. I want to have some fun." He laughs. I pause for a moment, Sherlock and I lock eyes. "And now he has a new piece added to the board. A starter you could call it. Very use full piece. "

"No, I-"

"Too late to back out now Enna Burk." He tells me. I swallow. "Let's just hope our hero can keep you alive until the finale."

"Was that your motive? To make us so desperate to call Enna to involve her?" Sherlock snaps.

"Oh Sherlock, it's great to hear your voice! And of course it was! I thought you would have seen it coming!" He laughs again. "I'll tell you what, the 3 on the building top, I'll let them go. They can be part of the 'starter package'. This isn't over yet my friends, It's only beginning." I can almost see this guys smiling. "Goodbye for now." And the line is dead.


	2. Chapter 2

Footsteps, ever so quietly crept closer behind me as I faced the dark room. Slowly, so as not to alarm the one coming behind me, I slide a gun from my pocket. The footsteps are about 20 feet away now. I get ready, my finger held on the trigger, and then I strike. I whip around. Not behind! Just more darkness. My left! I turn, no one. Right? Wrong again. Above? Of course not...That doesn't stop me from looking up. I fall to my knees, it's where I least expect it. His body hangs above me, the blood drips, catching on my clothes as I take off, deeper into the darkness.

I bump into things I can't see. First I hit my leg, stumbling I regain my balance. Then, I'm falling. Down, down, down. I can't stop myself. I'm rolling, hitting hard on every roll until all is still. Do I get up? I try. Doesn't seem to work. My brain command my arms to push my body up. They refuse. My brain yells at every part of my body. None of them want to help. So my brain gives up. _I _give up.

Enna!

Who is that? I want to ask but my lips won't spread apart and my tongue won't budge.

Stand up!

How rude, you could ask me nicely. Now, the darkness is evaporating, my eyes are responding, fluttering with all of their might, and it's as though they are setting a trend. My whole body comes into play. I jump, sitting up. I look around and try to make out my surroundings. Since I can barely rely on my sight I go to hearing.

"Enna!" Carrington. But where? My left. I turn and see a hazy figure.

"Where am I?" I wonder. I was not in my bed. I was on the floor I do think. But not in my bedroom either. It didn't smell like the freshly cleaned sheets. It smelled like cleaner.

"On the floor. You fell down the stairs. What are you doing up? It's 5 in the morning!" Carrington yells at me. I squint in his direction then sigh annoyed.

"I wasn't awake." I say, pushing myself onto my feet.

"Sleep walking?" Carrington asks, leading me up the stairs. I don't respond. "Were you dreaming too?" I take a hold of the railing.

"I am OK from here," I tell him, continuing up the stairs.

"Oh and don't bother apologizing!" He yells after me. "You only awoke all of the maids!" I don't respond. I was too tired to fight. Or do anything for that matter. I just wanted to go back to sleep. I could barely do that though. Not after yesterday. The bone chilling phone call. Being able to put everything together in little to no time at all. It was new, everybody praising me instead of Sherlock.

I push open my bedroom door and trip on something. I stumble but catch my self on my bereau. I take up my glasses and as I lay them on my nose, I see it. The mess of everything. My books are all knocked off my shelf, my lamp is broken, my picture frames are on the floor. There's glass too. I avoid the mess and jump into bed and pulling the blankets up over me and cuddling into the warmth.

"You're here." The taxi driver tells me. I look up from the tray of coffee that I had been staring at the whole drive and direct my attention out the window. I hand him a wad of cash from my pocket, not waiting for change as I step out and to the door. As I'm about to knock, it opens.

"Oh hello!" An old woman smiles. I return it.

"Hi, you don't think you could let me in, do you? I'm here to see-"

"Oh yes no problem! Are you a friend of John's?" The old woman leads me inside and to the door, 221B. That was scarily accurate.

"Uhm, yes. Sherlock and John." I respond. "You're their land lady? Mrs...?"

"Hudson, dear." She smiles, fishing a key out of her purse. "I feel more like their house keeper some days. The boys can be demanding, you know. I have gotten used to the life style though, I suggest you do too. Also, if you are looking for peace and or quiet you must turn back now." She laughs, unlocking the door for me. I smile.

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again." She smiles sweetly.

"Boys! You have a visitor!" She calls. "A pretty one too!" I walk up the stairs with the tray of coffee in my hands.

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson!" John calls to her and I hear the door close. I peer around the corner and see John sitting on the couch. He stands and I walk towards him.

"John," I say, handing him a coffee. He smiles and takes it great fully.

"Thank you," He says. "Sherlock is in his bedroom, he'll be out in a second." I nod and sit down in a chair.

"So what have you gathered?" I wonder, reaching out and placing the tray of coffee on the table. I look to him and see his is lowering the coffee from his lips.

"Mm, right." He starts. "Well-"

"We know he's male. Early 20's to mid 30's." It's Sherlock. I turn and he is walking out of the kitchen, dressed in his usual attire. "He's arrogant, but he can afford to be because he's smart. How do I know? Easy. It's a game of chess. He has one to three pawns standing on the roof. They are _my _pawns. Simple pieces in the way of getting to me. But I sacrifice myself to get them. Why? Because he has the stronger pieces so we need to be stronger in numbers. Next time it's going to be more difficult. How do I know? Because now we have a queen, that is you. He is going to take pawns that are close to me. Heck he may even take a rook or knight. He is going to shake us down to just our main pieces. He's done a good job of it so far. We need to-" He's cut off by the my cell phone.

"I know what you're going to say so if John doesn't know you may continue." I tell him.

"Oh really? And-"

"What were you going to say? Something along the lines of, 'We need to get some bigger pieces into play but we also need to keep our pawns close in case of the inability of more pieces.'" I respond. His expression is a sign I'm right. I take out my phone and answer it, walking into the kitchen for some silence. "Hello?" I ask. There are sounds on the other end, but not ones I can easily make out. "Hello?"

"Put the phone on speaker phone. You're king and bishop need to hear." A husky and shakey voice says. I swallow and walk back into the main room. The boys look to me. I hold the phone out in front of us all.

"You're on speaker phone. Go ahead." I say, dominantly. Trying to make my voice as strong as possible. I sounded convincing.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock." It's a different voice. A woman's voice.

"I'm sorry, who's speaking?" Sherlock asks. The woman chuckles.

"The queen of the dark side." She says. "You are the king, are you not?"

"This is a game of chess to you. I got that from when you said I could have a starter, A 'very use-full piece'. You were talking of the queen." Sherlock says.

"Yes, Sherlock dear, I was." The woman says. "Now that I know you are all on the board, I want to talk with the queen."

"This is she," I say.

"Enna Burk. You're a freak like Sherlock aren't you?"

"Depending on you're definition of _freak_. If it's, high fuctioning sociopath, then yes. You are correct. I will tell you though, I seem a lot more human than Sherlock." I joke, but don't laugh. I was too tense. The woman giggles annoyingly.

"You're funny. It's too bad I'm going to have to kill you." The tension rises. "That is unless you step off the game board right now. It would really help us reach our goal."

"And that is, what? Get rid of Sherlock? As tempting as it is, I'm going to have to pass."

"Oh what a pity. I would have really liked to go to coffee with you sometime." She says, sounding genuine. I laugh slightly, the tension lifting little bits at a time.

"Take the phone back of speaker phone I would like to talk to you alone." I do as told. "I have eyes on the building, send the boys outside of the room, just to be sure." I sigh.

"Guys, leave for a moment." I tell them.

"Why?" Sherlock demands to know.

"She doesn't believe I'm talking alone. Leave for a moment, I'll call you back in." I say. Sherlock turns and walks for the door.

"Wait, What? Sherlock!" John calls after him as he walks out. When the door closes I go back to paying all my attention to the woman on the other line.

"Alright. I'm alone. What is it that you want?" I wonder.

"I want a lot of things, but you're referring to what I wanted by talking to you alone, I'm sure." She says. "We are going to meet tonight, just you and I."

"I'm not an idiot I am not-"

"Or the boy dies." She stops me. I am confused. "Would you like to talk to him?" I don't say anything and I hear shuffling around. "Enna?" Carrington. "Enna is that you?"

"Yes," I respond. "It's me. Are you fine?"

"No, not really. My leg is broken for sure, and my shoulder-"

"There he is. If you don't come tonight, I think you can predict what happens. Oh, and you have to be alone." She tells me. I try to calm myself. To steady my breathing. "11:49 tonight, I'll send a taxi to 221b Baker street, assuming that's where you'll be. See you then." The line is dead. I lower the phone and remain in my position, unmoving.

She's taken my pawn.

I turn to the door and walk swiftly. I open it, John and Sherlock both look to me. I don't say anything, just continue in my quick motion until I reach the main door. I step outside and hail a taxi.

"Enna!" John calls after me. I turn and he is standing by the door, Sherlock arises shortly and tosses John his jacket while he throws on his own. They walk towards me as a taxi finally stops. I sit in and close the door then roll down the window.

"Don't follow." I demand, rolling the window back up and giving the driver my home address.

I arrived there quickly and then realized I wasn't the only person who knew Carrington had been abducted. 4 squad cars and several other cars were in my drive way. One of which was an ambulance.

"Thank you," I say paying the amount due and taking in everything. The flashing lights are too much on fragile eyes. The chaos and yelling was hypnotizing, but I gradually made my way to the front door.

As I pushed it open, Lestrade ran up to me. He takes me by the arm and is leading me threw the house but I can't pay attention to what he's saying...and the blood catches my eye. I stop.

"Enna?" His voice isn't as muffled as before. I can make it out more. I look around and everything becomes more clear. I look back to the door which is now closed.

"The wall is crushed, the door was flung open by the attacker. That's how he got in." I state, looking to Lestrade and then back to the wall. "Shots were fired, I see 3 holes, that's where they missed and then the fourth hit." I wave to the area of the wall where the blood splattered. "From the amount of blood and height I would say it hit his shoulder. But it didn't stop him," I follow the trail of blood. "he continued into the hallway and fell against the wall, hence the smears. Then was shot at again," I say as the next hole comes into sight. I go threw it again, in my mind and can see Carrington, stumbling threw out the hall...his tuxedo stained with blood.

"Enna?" Lestrade takes my shoulder. "Are you-"

"Fine. I'm perfectly fine." I say. "Was there any injuries or deaths?" He shakes his head.

"Your maids were really shook up but that's about it." He tells me. I nod. "Oh, there was something upstairs you might want to see."

"In my room?" I wonder. He motions for me to follow him up the stairs. The stairs didn't seem damaged, it didn't look like anyone who wanted to vandalize my home and steal my butler had been here. I was wrong.

I see, in a glorious red, a crown, sitting on my bed. A queen's crown. I walk to it and take a good long look. The red was definitely blood. A C.S.I agent hands me a pair of latex gloves which I quickly haul on my left hand and take up the crown.

"We can't piece together why it is they left it. Do you think it has something to do with the ledge victims?" Lestrade wonders. I give him a questioning look.

"ledge victims?" I ask him.

"Yes, that's what John calls it them in his blog. His newest article was called, 'On the Edge'. Brilliant huh? I liked it." I must still look confused because he continues. "You didn't know John had a blog?" I shake my head and turn back to the crown.

"Who's this?" I turn and see a dark skinned woman asking about me to Lestrade.

"Detective Consultant Enna Burk." I put out my right hand. The girl takes it and shakes it slightly.

"Sargent Sally Donovan." She tells me. I nod. "Oh! You're the freaks twin." I laugh.

"Wrong, my friend. Sherlock and I are as different as it gets. " I tell her, continuing to examine the crown, finding oddities within the gems.

"Oh right! He's the better one." She says as though it's fact. I swallow my pride and continue examining.

"Yes." I say, wiping blood from one of the gem's. It falls into the palm of my hand and I hold it in the sunlight to test it's lustre.

"That's what I heard. I heard you actually get things wrong." Sally butts in, I shoot her an annoyed look.

"One case." I tell her handing the gem and crown to Lestrade. "Emeralds. This one ages 2 years and the rest are brand new."

"How can you tell?" He wonders.

"A Magician never reveals her secrets." I respond. "This is a game and he isn't in it alone."

"What kind of a game?" Sally wonder. I sigh, not wanting to explain and actually a little disappointed they didn't catch what game.

"Oh you feeble minded people," I mutter under my breath. "Isn't it obvious? The crown, the pedestrians put in harms way, more than one enemy. Chess!"

"Chess?" Lestrade asks, wanting to make sure he heard right. I roll my eyes.

"Yes, Chess." I sigh. "Sherlock is king and-"

"Enna is queen." I'm cut off. I look to my doorway and Sherlock is walking in with John.

"I told you not to come," I say as he walks past me and to the window.

"No, you told me not to follow. And you said you lived in a flat." Sherlock replies. "This is no flat."

"That was-"

"Two years ago, yes I recall." He continues looking around the bedroom. "Have you been downstairs?"

"Yes."

"What are your thoughts?"

"I have none."

"None?" He is peeking out the window.

"Was I hard to understand?" Lestrade steps in front of me.

"She meant tons." Lestrade tells him. "She walked me threw just some of it. It was as incredible as you can be, Sherlock."

"Really?" Sherlock threw little enthusiasm into it while he continued to wonder around my bedroom as if he were a stray kitten.

"So, your house is under lock down, do you have somewhere you can stay?" Lestrade wonders. I open my mouth but Sherlock cuts me off.

"With me. I can't let her out of my sight." Sherlock responds walking to my door. "She is the queen." He leaves with that and John, Lestrade, Donovan and I chase after him.

"Excuse me?" I ask. "I will certainly not stay with you!" I call, walking quickly behind him, down the stairs. The others were trailing behind me.

"Of course you will!" He calls back as I follow him to door. "That is if you want to stay alive." He walks out and a cab is waiting for him. I run after him.

"Sherlock!" I yell. "You're being ridiculous!" He is holding open the door.

"Get in."


	3. Chapter 3

"Sit still." Sherlock tells me. I look up from my book and we make eye contact. "I cannot think with you hustling around." I sit down on the sofa a few feet away and continue reading...but I didn't sit for long. I stand again and close my book. Sherlock looks up from his own book.

"What are we doing?" I ask him. "Shouldn't we be...I don't know, trying to trace the call or something?"

"Do you really think they would make it so the phone could be traced? Even if we could it would be intentional. To lure us in." Sherlock responds. I sigh. That's exactly what they were doing. I look at the wall clock. 11:30. 19 minutes and the taxi would arrive. I take a deep breath.

"I'm hungry." I state.

"Good for you." He replies. I sigh. He may be the most intelligent person I know but he's still an idiot.

"Would you run out for me?" I ask annoyed. He doesn't look up from his book.

"You never eat when-"

"Working a case, I know, we actually had that in common." I cut him off. "But I am actually very hungry. I need you to run to Sight of Paris." That restaurant was going to take him 1 hour at the very least to get there and back.

"Where's that?" he asks. I don't reply. I wasn't stupid, I knew that he knew this town like the back of his hand. He stands, closing his book and laying it on the coffee table. "Well?"

"Sherlock I'm not feeble minded, I know you better than that." I tell him. He nods, throwing his coat on.

"Yes, yes. John will be home in 45 minutes. Lock the door." He orders. I nod. Just as he's half way out the door, he stops and slips out the gun from his side pocket, holding the handle towards me. "Know how to shoot it?" He asks me. I lean to my left, taking my own gun from my hand bag.

"I've got my own." I tell him. He looked a little surprised but simply nodded before leaving the apartment. Fifteen minutes now.

I stood in the cold British winds, my arms were folded and my hair blew everywhere. It was 11:48. One moment before I would be riding with my enemy. Sure enough, there was the taxi. I looked around before sitting in the passenger seat. The man did not turn to look at me, instead drove off. I looked outside the window and watched every pedestrian go by and went over endless scenarios, trying to prepare myself for anything and everything.

"Here we are miss." He tells me, I open the door and find myself at an abandoned apartment building. I close the door and walk to the front of the building.

"Enna Burk?" A deep male voice asks. I spin and a man, tall and built is standing by the side of the building. "Come with me." I followed him naively inside the building. We went up the stairs, all the way to the top floor and I found a steel door. He opened it for me and I stepped inside the damp room. It reeked of abandonment. I turned and watched the door close behind me. I walk in further but saw no one. It was dark and the moonlight was the only thing that enabled me to walk without banging into something or someone.

"You actually came, you have guts I will admit." I look to the voice and find a woman, long, black curly hair(obviously dyed) with a red velvet dress with diamonds crested into the top walking into the moonlight. She smiles at me sinisterly and flicks locks of curls to her left revealing a butterfly tattoo by her ear.

"Carrington." I say simply. "Hand him over."

"Now, now. That's no fun." She says. "We need to do this fair. A trade."

"What do you want from me?" I wonder. She sighs.

"Well, I need you to step off the board. We get the queen for the pawn." She tells me.

"No." I say simply.

"You'll get nothing then." She responds, twisting a curl in her finger. I hesitate now and then realize I cannot win.

"Fine." I say bitterly. "I will step off the board." She smiles.

"That's a good girl." She says in a motherly tone.

"Carrington," I say sternly. "Now."

"Come now, why don't we-"

"No." I cut her off. There was a certain feeling arising inside me, rage. I was almost ready to pull out my gun when my phone rang.

"Go ahead." She tells me. I slip it out of my pocket.

"Burk." I say, unsure.

"Enna!" It's Lestrade. "Carrington has just been admitted into hospital! He's not in great shape, but he'll survive! You need to get over here, I cannot get a hold of Sherlock." I lower my phone, and still hear Lestrade calling for me on the other line, faintly. She is smiling, obviously pleased with herself.

"You must step off the board." She tells me.

"The King will be a little angry with you, won't he? He is the one who had originally called me out."

"Maybe, but you do know without a doubt that the queen is the most powerful piece on the board. He can suck it up." She replies.

"Of course." I respond and turn and walk to the steel door, swiftly and without hesitation. I push it open and start for the stairs when the door swings open again.

"Enna!" She calls after me. I turn and see the built man that led me here was holding a gun on me, they both stood not 10 feet away. My heart raced and pounded...I knew it wouldn't be this easy. "I don't really trust you'll hold up your end. Sorry, I wish thing could be different." She fakes sympathy. I masked my fear with agitation as she whispers something to the man and walks back into the room, closing the door behind her. I make eye contact with man and slowly reach in my back pocket where I had put the gun before leaving the flat. I was not fast enough...it felt as though daggers were connecting all over my body. Down the stairs I fell and continued before my eyes closed and my heart slowed. The warm blood flooded from the wound as I slipped out of consciousness.

Firm hands pressed on my shoulder startled me and I awoke with a gasp. I was panting, covered in sweat and blood. I tried to sit up but could not. I gasped, my shoulder stung sending currents of agony throughout my body. It was a blur, but slowly they both came into focus. Sherlock and John that is.

"Don't strain yourself!" John commands. I wince at his strong hands and then moan. "She's loosing to much blood." he whispers to Sherlock, but I could hear him perfectly.

"I injured my shoulder John, not my hearing." I sass him but then feel more pressure on my shoulder. My mouth widens and my eyes squint. I could just barely hold in my cries from the escrutiating pain. My eyes stung with tears.

"Who did this? Why were you here?" Sherlock snaps questions at me.

"Bite me." I try to sound more angry but it came out in a weak tone.

"Not now Sherlock, she's-" John tries to stop him but doesn't succeed.

"Why did you come alone? You're not stupid! You should have known it to be a trap!" He yells. I want to snap back...but I could not. I was drifting again. My vision was faltering and I was being led into darkness.

Fear had struck me again. A gun pointed at me, Sherlock on the other side.

"Don't do this," I say, but my legs would not move. I could not run away. I had no weapon so I could not defend myself.

"I'm tired of your burden!" He yells making me jump with such strength in his voice and then calms himself. "I will be free of that once you are gone." His fingers intertwined around the trigger and before I had time to breathe...

_BANG_

I shot up in bed, ripples of pain affect my breathing now more than ever. Sweat dripped from brow...but I was not long conscious when I realized that I was not in my bed. I was not in a hospital bed either. Nor was I wearing my clothes. I was wearing a male blouse, too long to be John's which left only one option.

"Enna?" Sherlock. I shuddered at his voice but hid it very well. I turned to see him standing in the doorway of the barely lit room.

"Yes?" I ask. He draws closer, only a few steps though.

"Are you alright?" He asks. The concern he showed was weird but instead of questioning it I simply nod, taking deep breaths.

"Fine..." I say very quietly. "Perfectly fine." He nods but wasn't the least bit convinced.

"I know you aren't. It's time you stepped down, let me handle all of this." Sherlock says, that's what he was leading up to...I shoot a disgusted glare at him.

"I was shot Sherlock, not paralyzed. I'm fine." I snap. He does not respond, just continues to stare. "Don't scrutinize me, Holmes." I tell him with frustration obvious in my voice. With that, he comes closer.

"You're not OK. It wouldn't take a genius to figure that out." He says. I roll me eyes. "You struggle with the pain but mask it with agitation. You hide your fear away so it is only when you close your eyes you are truly afraid. Your past failure haunts you and that is why you do not give up on any sort of case. You smoke, too." He profiles me. I could barely believe that _he _was profiling _me._ The nerve of this man.

"I most certainly do not!" I respond, but he was right...about all of it.

"You most certainly do. I could smell it off you, faintly. You don't smoke heavily, only as a stress reliever. You are more human than I which is a great feature to have but it's also a disadvantage. Your feelings make it harder to do your job, especially when it hits close to home. Shall I continue?" I glare and thats his sign to stop. He does no such thing. "About nine months ago your only 'friends' were kidnapped while helping you with a case. They were brutally beaten and murdered and you were unable to save them."

"Sherlock, stop." I tell him, fearing he may continue.

"Since then you have been distant, unpertaining and devoted to work. Your own mother is unsure if you still breath. You-"

"Sherlock!" I snarl. He does not speak anymore. "Stop."

"You are not stable to work this case." He says simply before storming out of the room, leaving me, myself and I.

"No more victims since last night when you were shot." Lestrade tells me as I follow behind him, walking to the police records to see if the Queen was anywhere in there. "Where is that ruthless Sherlock anyway?" I did not want to think of that man. Not after that morning.

"Why does it matter?" I wonder. "I would say it's time he did something usefull instead of driving us all nuts." I say and remember the note on the door when I had l left that morning.

_Do not leave, I will be home shortly._

_-Sherlock Holmes_

"I agree with you 100%." Lestrade says. "But we cannot deny he comes in handy."

"I do not work with him so my opinion does not matter." I reply as we sit at a desk and Lestrade punches in the characteristics of the woman I had described into the computer.

_Female, Tall, Curvy, unnatural black hair, butterfly tattoo by the ear, _

About 300 different results appeared on the computer screen. Quickly, scrolling threw the pictures I came to see that I would probably never find the one I was looking for.

"Anything else you can think of that may help?" Lestrade asks. I think for a moment.

"She's probably under counts of robbery or has obtained a lot of money somehow." I say. "The dress she was wearing a dress that was anything but cheap." Lestrade nods, punching in more descriptive words and a blond version of her appears on the screen. "That's her!"

"Madame Nowell?" Lestrade asks doubt fully.

"Wait, you know her?" I wonder. He nods, his eyes scrutinizing the picture.

"She's my next door neighbor." He says shockingly.

"Get a squad car ready, we're going in." I tell him.


	4. Chapter 4

The door is thrown open, SWAT officers barge inside. I follow, my own gun in hand. Three seconds after stepping foot inside, heavy feet trot up from behind. I turn and when faced with Sherlock cuss under my breath.

"Couldn't have waited, could you?" He asks me annoyed. I don't respond, just continue walking threw the house, readying the gun to fire with every new room I step inside. Sherlock follows behind. "She's not here." He tells me confidently. I roll my eyes, his presence agitating me.

"Shut up," I murmur. "for three seconds, shut up." We are both greeted with a small basement door or crawl space as the words leave my mouth. It was barely big enough for me to squeeze threw so Sherlock definitely wasn't getting threw. "Hold this," I tell him, passing him my gun. He takes it as I unlatch the door with my one good hand.

"You're not going in there," he tells me in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Then who will? You're not going to fit, none of the SWAT officers will either." I tell him. He swallows, kneeling down and using his flashlight to see inside. It was to deep and to dark to tell where it led. "Sherlock, I'm 5'1 and 90 pounds. Let's not kid ourselves."

"OK, OK." He finally agrees. "Here, take the flashlight." He says, overloading my hands. Between the flashlight and the gun I couldn't hold much more. I sigh, holding it between my teeth as I get onto my knees, squeezing inside the crawl space. I crawled a foot or two before Sherlock was asking questions.

"It's damp," I call back. "and I think I just saw a mouse." Revolted, I force myself deeper until an explosion like sound and shaking stops me dead in my tracks. I had just enough room to turn myself around where I was greeted with growing flames. My heart sank. I crawled as fast as I could, my knees pounding against the concrete until I was coming close to the entrance. That's when the door slamned shut and locked. I dropped the flashlight and gun, crawling quicker and pounding on the door with my fist.

"Hello!" I called but my voice was shaking and I was beginning to panic. "Somebody! Help me!" I screamed. "I'm trapped in the cellar!" The response was fire eating away at the wood. "Sherlock!" I squealed, my fist now bloody from my pounding on the door. I quickly lid on my back, kicking the door as hard as I could. With each kick my feet were stunned against the wooden door that would not break. I could feel the heat now, and with the heat brought more frantic actions. "Please!" I screamed as loud as my voice would allow. One big kick was all I had left, so I readied both my legs and slammed them against the door. It broke free and hit the wall, crushing the dry wall.

I was faced with yellow and red flames...and Sherlock, trapped underneath a fallen beam. I crawled to him, hitting him in the arm and then the face. Slowly, his eyes opened and relief washed over me.

"Thank god," I say, pushing locks of sweaty, tangled brown hair from my face. "Are you okay to stand?"

"Yes, but I cannot move the beam." He manages, looking down at the beam on his stomach. I watch the flames grow higher and heavier around us. I stare down, the thing had to weigh at least 50 pounds.

"OK, I'll try to help," I tell him scurrying to the beam. "lift on three." I tell him, grabbing a hold of the beam as best as I could. "One, two, three." We both lifted with all our remaining strength and the beam toppled over, freeing Sherlock. I stood quickly, reaching my hand and letting him grab it. He swung his arm around my shoulder and I supported him out of the burning house and struggled if I may add. We got outside successfully and were greeted by paramedics, firefighters and more police officers.

"Sherlock! Enna!" A familiar voice calls for us. I turn to see John running to us. "Are you hurt?" He asks us both. Without realizing it, we shrug in unison. Sherlock's weight was making me struggle to continue walking. With my bloodied hand I was holding onto him just as tightly as he was to me.

" ." A voice from the opposite side of John says. Paramedics rush towards us, one supporting Sherlock and one leading me towards a separate ambulance.

I relaxed on a chair in the corner of the empty room. Sherlock had not returned home. John was with him, wherever that was. I stared at the ceiling, curious of Sherlock's condition. I was afraid of his injury, more then any of my own. I can still smell the fresh blood and rotting flesh that I smelled inside the house. Of course it was a trap...I really have lost my touch, haven't I?

A knock on the door made me jump and wait to see if it was just my imagination. Another knock sounded, it was not in fact my imagination. I got to my feet, strolling to the door, opening it to Sally Donovan.

"Sargent Donovan." I address her.

"Burk." She responds without showing any intention of revealing her ulterior motive of being here (that is unless she wanted to stop by to talk which is very unlikely).

"Can I help you, Sally?" I ask her, slightly annoyed.

"No, I was told to come check up on you." She responds. I nod, stepping aside and letting her into the flat. She walks up the stairs behind me and I make my way unsteadily to the kitchen.

"Would you like some tea?" I wonder being as polite as I could. I turn the kettle on but she is right behind me, turning it off again. I look at her confused.

"Go sit down Burk. I'll make it." She tells me. I was still confused. "Your hand is a state. The 'good' one." I looked down at my bandaged hand. It was bloodied and swollen underneath the heavy gauze that the paramedics had applied for me. I recollect on the traumatizing events of being trapped in the crawl space, pounding on the doors as my co-workers burned alive...I nod once, trying to remove the images from my mind as I sit to the table.

"So," I was itching to ask about Sherlock's condition. "how is Sherlock?"

"The freak is fine. Concussion s'all, not serious either. He just has a bad head ache." She tells me, standing up next to the kettle. I nod, relieved. "If the freak had feeling I would say he was worried about you."

"Bull." I say as she takes two tea cups from the cupboard and begins to fill them with the boiled water.

"No really, as soon as he was awake he asked about you. He doesn't even remember getting out of the house. Apparently you were screaming a lot though." Sally tells me, putting a tea bag inside the cup and laying it down in front of me. I sigh. Of all things, he remembered that. "You gave him a fright. You were stuck in a crawl space?"

"Who ever planted the bomb locked me in when everything went ablaze. I had to break the door down. That's actually how I roughed up my hand." I tell her, swirling the tea bag around in the water, watching it colour a light green. I take it out and toss it in the garbage can as I look back up to her.

"Well, they will be home soon." She tells me. "Have you slept?"

"No," I respond nonchalantly, staring into my tea cup as if it would reveal some interesting clues.

"Weren't you shot last night?"

"What's with all the questions Donovan?"

There was a sweep of silence as I took a mouth full of tea. She does the same but still expects me to answer. I take another mouth full of tea before lowering my cup and directing my full attention on her, even though my vision seemed to collapse and falter as I tried to focus. The contacts, must be.

"Yes, I was." I tell her. "By the woman we went to arrest. The queen." The tea had a certain sweetness to it as I continued on taking bigger and bigger mouth fulls until the cup was gone. I stared at it for a moment before looking back up to Donovan. My eyes were beginning to get quite heavy as I could barely keep them open...it didn't make sense. I wasn't tired, not at all.

"Well, I suggest you go to your bedroom straight away." She tells me, standing up. "The drug will kick in quite soon and we don't want you to fall and bang your head."

"What are you-"

"Sherlock had me drug you with something to make you sleep." She tells me. My mouth drops open. "You need rest, you aren't super human."

"Well I could have taken care of that on my own, thanks." I say but it began to come out in slurs. I push myself out of my chair but the drug was taking its toll. Dizzy, I steady myself on furniture as I struggle to make it to the couch. "What the hell?" I ask, holding my head. The whole room was swaying.

"I'll get you a blanket," She tells me. "Sweet Dreams Burk."

"Well get me an aspirin goddammit!"

"Shush yourself Sherlock! She's sleeping!"

"She's been drugged, she isn't going to wake up for another hour at least."

"You drugged her?"

"Technically no, that was Donovan. I may have hinted at it though."

"Sherlock! You can't just drug people like that!"

My head pounded as I barely muttered, "Yeah, talk about rude."

"You're awake?" Sherlock asks, astonishment evident in his voice.

"Sorta." I say but again, it came out in slurs. I struggled to open my eyes but the light was to blinding. "Hey, do me a favor and shut off the light, I can't even open my eyes." I complain. It becomes less hard on the eyes in an instance. I try opening them but it's blurry, my contacts must have come out. "Fucking hell," I say, squinting. "John, my bag." I reach out my hand and a blurry item is placed on my lap. I feel threw it, pulling out things that aren't my glasses until finally finding the case. I struggle to open it and push the glasses onto my face, things beginning to clear up. John and Sherlock stare at me with looks of both concern and why is she wearing glasses, what the hell, where have I been?

I face Sherlock now who is sitting on the coffee table and throw a punch, hitting him in the nose. He falls off the table and onto his back while pain circulates threw my hand. I cuss under my breath, holding my hand close to my stomach. Throbbing pain courses threw it and I begin to think I hurt myself more than I hurt him.

"What the-"

A scowl seemed to be permanently plastered on my face. "Are you fucking nuts?!" I yell at him.

"Am I nuts? You're throwing punches!" He yells back, my mouth drops.

"You drugged me!" I squeal. "What the hell!?" With the yelling came a throbbing head. I buckle over, nauseous. "Oh jeez..." I mutter, everything was spinning again.

"Take an easy Enna. You don't want to strain yourself. The drug, whatever it was, probably took its toll on top of the physical injuries." John warns me, resting a hand on my back. I don't straighten up in fear that I would projectile vomit everywhere. "I'll go make some tea." He tells me, standing up and walking into the kitchen. After a moment, the feeling was starting to pass and I straightened myself up. Sherlock and I met with glares.

"You're ridiculous." I say, not ripping my glare from him.

"You're naive." He responds, the same tone as my own.

"Absurd." I say, offended.

"Not quite."

"Do you have no sense?" I ask, snapping. "I trusted Donovan."

"You shouldn't. What did she do to earn your trust?" He asks me. "Nothing, you trust to easy. Another weakness."

"What is your problem? Ever since I was asked onto the case you've been an egotistical jerk!" I yell. "Profiling me, snapping at me and now drugging me?"

"You needed your rest. You were shot, trapped in a burning building, you had to rescue me and watch everyone else die, you-"

"That was up for me to decide Sherlock!" I say, standing. "God! I can take care of myself!" I had stood up to fast. Swaying, I try to catch myself, but don't succeed. I was falling when Sherlock jumped, catching me before I hit the ground. I sigh, my point was not prove.

"You were saying?" He asks in a tone where I had to restrain myself from hitting him again. He helped me to my feet a steadied me. "Would it help if I said I was..." He trails off. I stare at him, waiting. "sorry." He coughs out. A smirk creeps onto my face.

"Your what? I didn't catch that." I say, wanting to hear him say it again. He gives me an annoyed look. "Maybe I did actually." I say again, pleased. "It did make it a little bit better."

"Yeah, don't get used to that." He tells me, walking out of the living room and into the kitchen, passing by John. John walks over, laying a cup of tea on the coffee table in front of me.

"Thanks," I tell him, sipping a small bit. "any news on how many lives were taken in the explosion?"

"They are estimating 13." John tells me. I nod thinking off all the burning bodies I passed once again and shuddering at the thought. "But they caught her." My eyes brighten as I turn to him.

"They did?"

"Yeah, a few blocks away." He tells me. "They want you to conduct the interrogation."


	5. Chapter 5

Slowly but promptly I made my way to the interrogation room, following D.I Lestrade. I wasn't supposed to tell Sherlock that I had been asked to conduct the interrogation or that I was doing it period. If he found out he would have raged.

"Wait here for a moment." He tells me. I nod and stare threw the window of the interrogation room, watching Lestrade walk threw and stand next to the still amazingly beautiful Lori Nowell. He paces the room as she sits in the chair, way to pleased with herself.

"So, are you going to commence with the interrogation or just stare me down, Greg?" She asks, watching him. He stops, glaring at her.

"You killed 18 police officers." He says, straight faced. I could have almost sworn I saw his eyes begin to water as he slams his fists down on the table. She jumped slightly but hid it quickly. "Have you no shame?!" He yells, his voice cracking. "Some of my best friends died in that fire..."

"You mean Sherlock Holmes and Enna Burk?" She asks, smirking. "We've won already Lestrade, Check mate."

"Not quite." I couldn't stop myself. I pushed myself threw the door and I stood face to face with Lori. Her face was overwritten with pure shock. Her mouth dropped and her eyes widened.

"You're dead!" She says, struggling against the handcuffs.

"Wrong again. It seems the crawl space you had trapped me in didn't do the job." I tell her, pushing up my glasses with my wrapped hand as Lestrade found his way out.

"Well it did take it's toll." She says, relaxing slightly. "The gun shot wound and the trip down the stairs, the fire and being trapped in the crawl space. Honey, how much more can you take?" My hair wasn't in it's natural whip straight style, it was wavey and curled around my face. One arm in a sling, the other wrapped heavily in gauze.

"A lot more then what you're throwing at me." I tell her, sitting down in the seat across from her. "Sherlock is fine too, just in case you were wondering."

"I figured you wouldn't leave him behind." She responds, picking at her finger nails. "No matter how much you claim to despise him." I watch her attentively and a stray tears rolls down her cheek. "You would never leave him behind, you love him."

"What are you getting on with?" I ask her, watching her tears come on harder. "Lori!" I demand harshly as she looks to me, on the verge of breaking into sobs.

"He's gone." She tells me. "He left me behind because he thought it was over...It was supposed to be over!" She yells frantically, pulling at the hand cuffs. "You are supposed to be dead!" She squeals again, anger evident in her voice.

"Listen to me Lori, who is he? The king? We can end this." I tell her. She looks at me sinisterly as the tears continued to flow.

"It's to late," She tells me and immediately looks at the clock on the wall. "It's only a matter of time before the press gets a hold of this." I look at the time as well. 3:00pm. Yesterday at 3:00 was when the explosion happened...What did this mean?

The building around me shook, drywall crumbled from the ceiling and I stood, leaving the room and meeting Lestrade in the hallway.

"What's going on?" I wonder as he stares blankly at the T.V. I turn to watch the T.V as well when 'Breaking News' flashes across the screen. I squinted to make out more of the words on the screen. I made out 'Suicide Bombing Takes At Least 300 lives'. I turn back to see Lori smiling happily before breaking into fits of laughter.

"It's all over." She laughs finally. "The real question is, who really won?"

"Almost 350 lives were lost due to the current events that were organized by Lori Nowell and company. Lori Nowell was, as we concluded, the master mind behind everything." Lestrade addresses the press. "Questions?"

"Where was the amazing Sherlock during all of this?" One of the reporters call out. I look to my far left and see him hiding underneath a pillar to keep out of the rain. Out of sight, out of mind. I look back to Lestrade.

"He was working the case with the, just as amazing, Enna Burk." He responds. "It was something that none of us have ever dealt with and we lost a lot of people as well as others sustained serious injuries." I adjust my hood as rain speckles down across the crowd a little heavier.

"Who is Enna Burk? Is she perhaps, the new Sherlock?" I turned away from the crowd, wrapping my coat around me tighter before hailing a cab. I didn't care enough to hear the response. I just wanted to go home.

I jumped in the cab, telling my address and watching the crowd raise their hands in an attempt to understand the past weeks events as I drove out of sight.

At a red light, I watched people crowd three pictures and lay candles and flowers and teddy bears there in their memory. I bit my lip, concealing my tears as the red light turned green. The cab driver started moving again. For blocks afterwards, I saw pictures and candles and teddy bears on the pavements and in front of buildings.

Upon arriving, I gave the cab driver an one hundred dollar bill and told him to keep the change, to tired to wait. I walked up my long, beckoning drive way and opened my front door.

"Enna?" Carrington asked from the other room. His grey hair and fatigued face came into sight as I hung my coat on a rack. "You're home early."

"The press conference wasn't my type of thing." I say honestly as I unzip my boots and walk into the house, going towards the counter. I take off my glasses, rubbing my eyes before putting them back on.

"You did a good thing you know." Carrington tells me as he stands in the doorway. "You caught that woman."

"Not nearly when I should have." I respond, watching the maid Lily stir the soup. She looks at me for an instance before going back to stirring again, adding a few spices and other ingredients. I look away and watch the rain roll down the glass of the window.

"You saved lives."

"1."

"Why are you so hard on yourself?"

"What right do I have not to be? If I hadn't been sulking around the house, I could have saved the 300 odd people that were burned alive in that explosion. But I didn't." I say, standing and walking pass Carrington to my office. When I get to my door I swing it open, slamming it shut on the way in and sit at my chair. I breath out heavily, resting my head in my hands and remaining in the position.

I thought over every possible scenario, multiple times, but I ended up with nothing. Nothing I could have done. What if I had just told Donovan to leave? Or if I didn't invite her in? If I didn't drink the tea? I couldn't think of where it went from there...would John have told me sooner?

"Burk." I lift up my head and Sherlock stood in my doorway. I rub my eyes and motion him in. He comes in, closing the door behind him and sitting in the chair on the opposite side of my desk. "You left the press conference." He takes note.

"I didn't see the point in staying." I tell him, going threw papers on my desk. More work being offered but I didn't want to take any of it.

"Why are you being so distant?" He wonders.

"Why are you here?"

"Please don't answer my question with another question." He tells me. I don't respond, just continue looking threw papers that were laid on my desk. "What's on your mind?"

"Could you leave?" I ask him. "Please?" I stand, leaving my office. His footsteps trailed my own as I walked upstairs with plans to go to my bedroom and sleep. He didn't get the message and followed me right to my bedroom. I walked threw my bedroom, pretending to have better things to do as he stood in my doorway.

"What's wrong with you?" He asks me. "I want an answer this time." I turn to him, watching his nonchalant expression as he leans on the door pane.

"Why do you care?"

"That's not an answer."

"Neither is that."

We stayed silent, out gazes locked on one another before he stormed over, staring down at me. He looked agitated at the very least as he thought over different things to say. His mouth opened but it took awhile for words to escape.

"I don't know why I care, frankly." he responds. "You're controversial, unpertaining, naive, uncomplying..." He begins to trail off as he stares at the ground by my feet. "But for some reason I feel as though I may love you."


	6. Chapter 6

"Sherlock, it's me again. This is the nineteenth time I've called today and have been put to voice mail." I sigh heavily before continuing. "I shouldn't have run out but I needed time." I pause again, staring out my window as the sun begins to creep up behind the canal. "My flight will be in tonight, 7:00. I-" The beep cuts me off and I remember I had less then half a minute to leave a brief message. I look at my phone before laying it on the side of the bath tub and pulling bubbles closer to my chest as I sink into the warm water. I take off my now fogging glasses and shut my eyes, unwinding.

"Stop stressing yourself out," I hear from outside the bathroom door. I submerge myself deeper into the bubbles and water. "nineteen times in one day is a little much, no?" I try to block out my mother's voice but I have no such luck with her agonizing nagging.

"You don't understand." I say finally, watching the bubbles dissolve in front of my face. "I don't even know why I came here." I didn't mean for it to come out as tight-fist as it did but I couldn't take it back now. I listened for my mother's response.

"Of course you do," She tells me, no hurt in her strong voice. "you needed an escape, advice, a break. You knew I was the only person that could give that to you." I don't say how right she was because she had to have already known. I breath out, unwinding more and day dreaming, hoping my mind would not stray to the topic of 'Sherlock Holmes' but I knew it would be a failed attempt. "Come down for breakfast when you're ready." With that, the footsteps lead away from the bathroom door and I'm left alone. Me, myself and I.

I close my blurry eyes and I'm greeted with a familiar darkness. I could almost smell flesh burning and the flames creeping up on the walls of my head before Sherlock's beautiful eyes writhed into my mind and made it all crumble. I watched his small smile spread across his lips before he waved and turned, walking away. I wanted so desperately to fight the urge of following him but I couldn't. I called his name once but he didn't respond. Instead, he began to disappear. I was more frantic the next few times I called for him but it seemed every time 'Sherlock' escaped my lips he was just a bigger blur and harder to make out his figure until he turned to ash and was taken up with the wind.

Upon my eyes fluttering open and sitting up, the water and soap and bubbles splashed around me. In one swift movement I reached for my phone.

"You've reached the voice mail of Sherlock Holmes. I'm much more likely to respond to a text, but if you really must leave a message, do make sure it's interesting, at least."

From a little while away my bright orange suit case was slowly coming towards me from the baggage claim. I dropped my carry on, pushing threw the crowds until reaching my suitcase. With only one arm, I struggled to haul it off. I had no such luck and it continued on, my arm still steadily gripped. I pulled against it but of course a tall man had to come to my aid. He grabbed my suit case for me and with one pull had it on the ground. I looked up to thank him but was swept up by his mysterious but pretty green eyes and white blond hair. He had a pale complexion along with a stick thin body that he hid underneath a bulky black jacket, tan kacki's, a blue scarf and black stocking cap.

"Thank you." I manage to get out. "I had a recent accident and it seems I'm barely strong enough to stand, I-"

"No worries my dear, really." He responds, tipping his head as he pulls my suitcase from the crowd and to the area of which I had earlier dropped my carry on. "Have a good day." He tells me, giving a friendly smile before striding away. When he was finally out of sight I came to my senses and hauled out my cell phone, checking to see if I had missed anything from Sherlock.

0 New Voice mails

0 New Text Messages

0 Missed Calls.

Disappointed, I shoved my phone into my pocket as I take up my luggage. I struggled to pull it threw the crowded airport until I got outside and tried hailing a taxi. Of course this took several minutes because somebody else would always get to one before me.

Finally, a taxi driver came to my side of the pavement, getting out and taking my luggage, throwing it into the trunk as I sat down inside the cab. I put my hands next to heaters, warming them when he sat back inside.

"Where to Miss?" He wonders.

"221 Baker Street." I respond. "Take the quickest route please."

I swung open the door surprised to it not being locked this hour in the night. The apartment was seemingly idle but dimly lit.

"Sherlock?" I ask, walking in and leaving my suit case in the doorway. "John?"

"Mycroft." I jump, spinning on my heels to meet Mycroft. "Ms. Burk, it's been some time." He had aged nicely although almost looked heart broken. His face was not welcoming nor warm. It was dejected and lost. He tuxedo coat was hanging from his arms as he stood, examining me as I was him.

"It has. Does Sherlock know you're here?" I ask, walking across the room.

"It's not likely." He responds, watching as I lay my carry on bag next to John's laptop. I nod once, fishing out the box I had planned on giving Sherlock.

"Where is he, anyway?" I ask him, fondling the box in my fingers. "I have to talk with him. Do you know if he has his phone?" I look up from the brown box to see Mycroft dangling Sherlock's phone. "You had his phone? Why?"

"You are very full of questions." He states as he sits on the chair next to the kitchen entry way. He motions to the seat across from him. "Sit." I look to the chair and cautiously sit down, watching his every move. He first crossed his right leg over his left, his eyes never leaving me as he folds his fingers and rests them on his knee. He made himself very comfortable before turning away for an instance and giving me a more serious look then before. I couldn't bring myself to ask what was going on. A part of me dreaded to know.

"Enna?" I turned to the doorway to see John standing there. His hair was discheveled and his clothes were old and worn. I had been so focused on Mycroft I didn't hear him. "Where have you been?" His voice was gentle but more strained then usual.

"Italy." I respond quickly. "Venice, I had some things to take care of. Where's Sherlock?" I ask him. He steps into the glow of the lamp light and I can make out the dark circles underneath his eyes and his pale skin. He doesn't respond, just continues to look at me sadly as if I had stopped breathing. "John?" I ask. My head flicks to Mycroft who has the same expression.

"He's dead." Mycroft says, slowly and carefully. I look back to John.

"What's he saying?" When John doesn't speak my eyes begin to water, stinging with pain. My throat began to become so dry that I could barely mutter words. I turn to Mycroft, looking for further explanation.

"It's true." John speaks up. I freeze in my spot. "He jumped off a building yesterday." I shoot a look to John. I was in disbeleif.

"That can't be." I tell him. He looks away, clenching his teeth. I turn to Mycroft. "That can't be. He would never-"

"But he did." Mycroft cuts me off and I choke on the air I was trying to inhale. I jumped out of the chair, a vase falling as my actions were so unsure and irrational. I turned and watched it fragmentalize upon the floor. A part of me broke inside. No, all of me broke. I was like the vase. Doomed for this silly fate.

I finally knelt down among the broken peices and picked them up. One by one I layed each individual peice in the palm of my hand and silently sobbed while doing so. Without a moment's notice, John was on the floor next to me, helping me clean up the mess I made.

"The vase is broken now," John says blandly. I look up at him. "but over time, with enough glue and determination it can be put back together and be just like new." He layed all of the smaller peices of the vase in the broken base. I did the same. "It's going to take time, no doubt, and the cracks might be visible but it will still hold the same purpose. It can still do the things it was meant to do." He stands, taking my hand and pulling me to my feet and hugging me, holding me in that embrace.

Sherlock Holmes

I studied the name, white on a black headstone. I had watched John, talk to him as if he may actually still be alive...but he saw him jump. He watched his body hit the pavement with a sickening thud. He held his wrist, checking for a pulse. He pronounced him dead. So what am I to do? Talk to him? What about? I hadn't really done this before...but I felt like I needed some type of resolution. Closure even.

I sighed, shakily sitting down in front of his headstone and hauled out the tabloid newpaper The Sun. I unfolded it and prepared myself to read the tittle aloud.

"Suicide of Fake Genius." I watch the headstone attentivly. "Sherlock Holmes, successful consulting detective, aproximated IQ of 190 and brother of Mycroft Holmes threw himself from the top of St. Bartholomew's Hospital late Sunday afternoon. It was right after the constant harassing from actor Jim Moriarty started about him being a fake, which, turns to be true." I look up from the newspaper, looking at the engraved name before continuing on. "Sherlock Holmes had hired people such as Jim Moriarty to comit crimes like the recent 'On The Edge' which took over 300 lives. He did all of this to simply say he had solved the case and earn the credit when in reality he was just a talented actor with a sickening imagination. Sherlock Holmes was not a genius. Could this have been the reason he took his life? The overwhelming guilt?" I grip the paper tightly, staring at the head stone once more.

"Can you hear this, Sherlock?" I snap, rage begins to build up at the silence that was being returned. "This is what they think of you!" I yell, standing. "I don't know why you threw yourself off the building, but this, " I bark, tossing about the papers. "was not why! I refuse to believe any of that. I don't have a therapist, how would you have known about my inability to keep relationships? Or that I smoke when I need to vent? For fuck sakes how would you have known that my only friends were Casey and Laura?" My voice cracks but I don't let that take a handle on me. I stood, biting down on my lip and running a shaking hand threw my hair. "God Sherlock, I was afraid! I was so afraid because I never heard that before! No one has ever said that to me! I did the only thing I could think of, I ran away! OK? I was a coward! I just-I shouldn't-If I had stayed would you have still jumped?" My breathing hitches as I stare at the head stone, not offering any answers. My episode took it's toll on my physical and mental state and I dropped onto my knee's, shuffling closer to the headstone, running my tremoring fingers over 'Sherlock Holmes'.

My head dropped, leaning against it as my whole body began to break into violent sobs.

"Please Sherlock," I mutter between cries. "please come back to me."


	7. Chapter 7

I take another slow mouthful of brandy before staring even harder at the stack of papers in front of me. The words were slowly jumbling together and I knew I was to tired (and a little to drunk) to keep going on like this. I straightened myself up, looking around the bar before stacking up my papers and putting them in my shoulder bag that was hanging from the stool I had been sitting in for the last 4 hours or so.

"Heading home?" The bar tender questions me. I look up to his smiling face while he cleans a dirty glass. I look down, continuing to puts papers in my bag.

"I, uh, I think so." I respond, returning a tired smile.

"What if I bought you a drink?" He tops off my empty glass with Brandy. "Would that keep you?" I look at it and chuckle lightly before sitting back down, taking off my jacket.

"Alright, one drink." I succumb, taking it up and downing a bit.

"Wow, nasty bruise." He observes and I remember the bruises on my neck which was revealed by my V neck long sleeve shirt. I run a few fingers gently over it. "Get into a fight?" He jokes, cleaning off another glass. I laugh a little, taking another swig.

"Wasn't much of a fight." I confess. "He got me from behind."

"It was a guy, huh? Scum bag. What kind of man beats on a woman?"

"Doesn't matter when the woman is associated with the cops." I respond, looking at the remaining quarter cup of brandy I had left.

"F.B.I?" The bar tender wonders. I shake my head, flashing my card.

"Consulting detective. I quit the F.B.I a long time ago."

"Oh Wow. You're Enna Burk!" He exclaims, setting down the half dirty cup he was supposed to be cleaning so he could properly admire me.

"You've heard of me." I laugh a little, taking one last swig.

"Of course! You did a great job solving 'On the Edge' I believe it was called." Of course, another John Watson fan. "You didn't have a clue he was a fake, did you?" And another guy asking about Sherlock. I sigh, standing.

"I didn't." I say, taking my coat and pulling that on over my shoulders. "Thanks for the drink." With that, I had my shoulder bag rested on my shoulder and I was striding for the door, breaking into the cold winds. I walked down the almost abandoned streets, passing by pedestrians and closed stores.

Every step I felt like the air was weighing me down a little more. Breathing was harder then usual now with a harsh topic on my mind, suffocating me as it sat on my chest. I turned a corner and continued up the road before I heard someone from behind.

"Enna Burk?" Without thinking, I knew it was Greg Lestrade. I turned and our eyes met.

"Hello." I say in a more unfriendly tone then I had originally intended.

"I didn't know you were back in town, I would have called." He says, stepping closer to me and pulling his jacket around himself tightly. Cold winds blow my hair out of my face, taking it up behind me.

"Any particular reason why?" I wonder, squinting.

"Just to catch up." He tells me. "I have some cases that I can fax to you if you're interested."

"I'll take a look." I say. He nods, smiling.

"That means a lot. It's been hard with Sherlo-"

"We'll be in touch." I cut him off, turning again and starting into the opposite direction. I didn't want to touch on the topic and I'm sure he picked up on that with my walking off.

With walking came sobriety of course and by the time I had strolled into my apartment I had a pounding head ache and that watery taste you get in your mouth right before you through up.

Using whatever sense I had left I threw myself into the washroom and collapsed in front of the toilet. Everything I had in the last 8 hours was in my toilet bowl along with some stomach acid. I rested my head in my hands for a few moments to steady my shaking body before cleaning myself up.

I flushed the toilet, telling myself I would clean it up the next morning while I brushed my teeth and hair. Next I managed to take out my contacts without taking my eye with it. I then threw off my coat and crawled into bed, not bothering to undress myself and wear proper night wear.

I stared at my ceiling awhile, my mind was running in circles. I wanted a simple relief like sleeping pills or herbal tea but I made myself sleep on my own. It had taken 5 hours but I was dozing off and finally in a deep enough sleep to call it rest. The fax machine startled me awake not 10 minutes later, making me jump up and stare at it until it finally stopped and silence filled the room. I took my glasses off my night stand, forcing myself out of bed and to the fax machine. I looked at the papers that Lestrade had sent me.

No interesting cases...at all. Just a break and enter resulting in murder, 2 hit and runs and kidnapping of an elderly woman. I lay them on my kitchen table before walking into the washroom, preparing to shower before looking further into the case files.

I sat at the cafe, nursing my hang over with a coffee and awaiting Lestrade to show up. He did, right on time.

"Enna." He says, sitting across from me at the table. "Have you taken a look into them?" I nod.

"I'll pick up the kidnapping of an Eleanor Lane. She was 89, correct?" I read over all the information again as Lestrade begins to talk.

"Yes. There was definitely a struggle." Lestrade tells me. "She owned almost 100 acres of land, big house as well."

"Can I be right to assume they were after her for the money?" I examine the picture of the woman before looking at Lestrade.

"That's what we think." He tells me.

"Any recent deaths in the family?" I wonder, laying down the papers.

"Funny you ask that because the grand daughter who was supposed to inherit everything was poisoned last week." Lestrade responds. I knew exactly where this was going.

"Who was next to inherit?" I ask him. He thinks for a moment.

"I believe it was the grandson who is-"

"M.I.A." I finish his sentence. "You need to find that kid and arrest him. He killed the grand daughter and the grandmother is dead most likely." He stands, pulling out his phone and barking orders before giving me a wave and taking off out of the cafe. I stuff the papers into an inside pocket on my coat and finish my coffee.

"Impressive." I turn and I'm greeted by a smirking John Watson. He looked great to say at the least. He was dressed is a nice and presentable tuxedo, his hair was combed down and he had a moustache.

"John." I say, shocked. I stand and he encases me in a warm hug. I let and give him a once over. "You look great." I tell him. He smiles and it almost seemed as thought there was a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

"May I sit?" He wonders. I nod.

"Please do." I motion for him to sit and watch him attentivly. "How have you been?" I wonder.

"I'm getting there. Yourself? I hear you were doing a lot of work in Venice."

"I was, yeah, but I thought it was time for me to come home." I tell him. "I needed time for me so I fired my staff and sold my house." John's mouth drops, his eye brows broaden. "I'm living in a flat downtown and enjoy most of it. It's a little lonely but nice."

"I'm sure it would be. If I knew you were back in town I would have came by." He tells me. I nod once, taking another sip of coffee before holding it in both my hands. "I'm thinking about reapplying for the army." That caused an uncomfortable silence between us both. I didn't know what to say to him. He looks at me just as pained as I was looking at him.

"John, I don't want that for you." I say finally. He nods once.

"I just, I'm having a hard time coping." He tells me at last, staring at his hands which were folded on the table. I stare at him before agreeing.

"I didn't want to admit it, but I'm not over it." I say as he looks up at me. "I don't believe he was a fake."

"I know he wasn't a fake. I just don't know how to prove it." he responds. "And with the media catching wind of it..."

"I know. It didn't make sense. Nothing. Not the jump, not Moriarty, none of it."

"I know." He responds. "But there's something besides him being a fake I don't believe Enna Burk."

"What's that?"

"I don't believe he's dead."

"Can I help you?" A familiar voice asks. I look up and I see an even more familiar face. I couldn't put a name to it but I ignored it for the time being.

"Yes, I would like to see the coroners report for Sherlock Holmes." I watch as she shifts uncomfortably, giving me a questioning look.

"May I ask why?" She wonders. I flash my card.

"I would rather not say." I tell her, putting it back inside my jacket pocket. She nods once, still looking more then uncomfortable. She dissapears in a room behind her desk for a few short moments before returning with a file. "Thank you, I appreciate it."

"Could you have it back by tomorrow?" She wonders. I size it up for a moment, taking all the papers into consideration.

"Most likely." I tell her, placing it in my carry on before the name hits me. "Molly?"

"Oh." She looks up at me. "You remember me." Her head drops again as she looks at papers laid out on the desk.

"I do, faintly but I don't normally forget people." I then remember something even stronger. She had really liked Sherlock. "How are you?" I ask, adjusting my shoulder bag. She sighs heavily before looking up to me and planting a very fake smile on her face.

"I'm very well." She says. "And yourself? You were doing work in Venice, right?" She looks back down at the scattered papers, organizing them.

"I was. It was time to come home though." I could tell she was avoiding the topic and she was doing so very easily. "I should have it back by tonight." I tell her and with that was waiting outside for John.

It was getting cold again. Summer had come and gone far to quickly, and now fall was almost over with as well. The leaves were falling off the trees and mothers were roping scarves around the necks of their kin. A car slowed as it approached me until coming to a complete stop. The tinted window rolled down until I could see John.

"What are you waiting for? Get in."


	8. Chapter 8

"There is nothing out of the ordinary." I say finally. "John, is this worth pursuing?" I ask him. He ignored me as he scanned over every word on the papers of his autopsy. I watched him for another moment before standing.

"I'll make tea." I tell him but he doesn't bat an eye. He was to absorbed in the flaw full idea that Sherlock did in fact survive the fall or in some other odd reality, Sherlock was still alive.

I sigh, pushing myself from my chair and walking to the kitchen. The sun was setting now and we had been at this for hours. I stood, looking down on the passer by's before turning on the kettle. A familiar empty feeling slowly filled my stomach and it took the kettle's screeching to snap me out of my trance of tedious thoughts. I stared for a moment before moving it from the burner and reaching for tea cups, putting two green tea bags in before filling the mugs with steaming water. I laid the kettle back on the stove, quickly removing my tea bag. My tea was very dilute but I let John's tea bag sit for awhile as I went threw my cupboard. I finally found the cinnamon to give my tea a bit of a drive and took up a pinch, dropping it in the steaming liquid and stirring it with a spoon. I watched hazily before taking out the spoon and using it to scoop out John's tea bag. I dropped it in the garbage bucket and added a small amount of cream and no sugar, the way he had always taken it.

I set it down in front of him but he couldn't be bothered. I wasn't sure what else I could do to make him aware of the reality around him besides;

1. Slap him

2. Pour the tea on his lap

3. Take the papers and burn them

But of course all of these would be wrong and I knew I had to be patient, or at least try my best, because that is what I do. I try my best, even though I fail, I do try as hard as I can in everything I do. I try to succeed and give my best endeavors. Casey once told me actually, that most people truly admired that about me. It been the first time I have put thought to it though.

Actually, this is the first time I allowed Casey and Laura's images into my mind without shutting them out as quickly as I could. I guess it had something to do with tomorrow being a one year anniversary of their death. No, their murder. I remember it as though it happened yesterday. Regardless of how many hours, days, months have passed. It was burned into my memory along with that explosion that trapped Sherlock and I in the mansion. When I found out he jumped off the roof of the building.

Casey, Laura and Sherlock.

My quick brushes with friendships and maybe something more were torn from my fragile arms and left me with close to nothing but a reputation and a bottle of rum that I had promised myself I wouldn't turn to.

"I don't understand." I was pulled from tragic thoughts with John's tired voice. "There's nothing here." My sympathies were given to John now because I was soon going to drown myself in self pity.

"John, that's because there's nothing left to look at." I say and he lays the papers down, looking up at me. "You put your fingers on his wrist when his body hit the pavement," I tell him and his eyes begin to water. "you know that you did not feel a pulse." He stands, striding towards the door and grabbing his bag off the coat hanger along with his parka.

"I realized I must be going." He says, straining not to break into sobs. "I have business to attend to." With that, I was being swallowed by darkness in my apartment. I could hear his footsteps traveling down the hallway until he reached the staircase with which my ears could not hear further. I then decided that I couldn't leave things like that.

I was running as fast as my legs would carry me and I caught him walking to his car before my calling of his name stopped him. He turned and I walked towards him, slowly.

"I don't know what it must be like for you." I start, still having to raise my voice for him to hear me because there was still a great distance between us. "I can't even comprehend how you could possibly cope with watching him jump and having to witness that." We drew closer to each other and the winds caught up with us, taking my jacket behind me which I had thrown on earlier, not bothering to zip up. "He said goodbye though, didn't he?" This was the thought that weighed on my mind for months now. "I got nothing. Nobody told me." My tears were welling up, threatening to spill and dribble down my cheeks. "I was walking the small streets of Venice when I saw a woman selling beautiful hand made scarves, and there was one in which had a beautiful blend of blues and blacks and my mind immediately drew to him. His face writhed into my head and I knew I would not shake the feeling until I had that scarf in my hands and had given it to him." We were face to face now, only a few feet away. "I came back and had never felt more nervous walking into your flat with hopes that maybe he would like it, and then I worried he would despise the thing." I laughed lightly to myself but even that small sense of humor made the tears come on stronger and I couldn't keep my cheeks dry. "I don't think I'll ever get to know if he liked it or not, I had to lay it with him in his grave." John was now crying as well as he walked towards me, pulling me into a tight hug that made my voice crack as I continued. "I don't think that's fair, where was my goodbye?" I ask him before he lets go of me.

"I am terribly sorry for my intrusion. I do hope you can forgive my-"

"Already forgiven." I tell him, wiping my cheeks and under my eyes, trying not to take my contacts with it. He pulls out an old and worn smile to wear for me before putting his hand on the back of my head and kissing my forehead.

"Goodnight Ms. Burk." He tells me.

"Goodnight Mr. Watson." I respond and he turns, walking to his car and he hops inside to drive away.

I didn't move from that spot until he was out of my sight and it was then that I turned and dragged my heavy feet back inside.

It took several drunken nights and brutal mornings before I had received any type of contact from anyone that didn't want help with a case. I'm glad it was John. Another e-mail, text or fax and I might have run away again.

**Lunch? JW**

I looked around my normal ill-lighted flat, rubbing my red eyes and taking a deep breath before punching in a simple response and sending it to John. I threw my covers and opened my curtains before walking to my washroom. My appearance was pale skin, red blood shut eyes that hid underneath my glasses and my regular long, wispy brown hair. I looked around my sink for my contacts and when they were by my fingers, I took off my glasses and pushed them in.

When everything was clear I applied a bottom line of black eye liner and mascara and tied my hair into a high pony tail before pulling on a pair of loose paints and putting on boots, stuffing the ends of pant leg inside before hauling on my parka and bland orange scarf.

The next text I got was where I was to meet him and what time. I was to be there in 2 hours and it would take me around that long to get there by walking so I figured that's what I was to do.

I walked at a nice pace, my steps were light for 10 in the morning. I felt different in that moment. I felt a little complete to be honest. I felt as thought I knew what I was to do with my life.

I could keep a healthy relationship with John as my friend while I continued to work as a consulting detective and maybe one day meet someone that I would be able to spend my life. Not someone that I needed to spend my life with, for that offer had already been revoked. I'm sure I could settle down with a nice enough man that would keep me happy enough.

"M'am?" I hear a child's voice intrude my thoughts and I look to my left where it had come from. A boy around 7 years old was tugging my coat.

"Can I help you?" I ask him, looking down at him. He nods.

"My mother, I-"

"You've lost her." I finish. "Of course you have." I look around at the nearby pedestrians. "Physical description?" I bark.

"Wha?" I almost laughed at myself before looking down at him.

"What does she look like?" I rephrase my question. He looks thought full for a moment before I could hear a frantic woman from behind.

"Peter! There you are!" She squeals, bumping bast me and scooping the boy into her arms. She was dressed in a Coach coat, popular brand name with boots. Also brand name. Her hair was a light blond, her eyes a torn green. She stares at me and I know she recognized me. "You're the detective," She says, nearly placing a name to my face.

"Yes," I respond. "your son came to me in search of you." I tell her and she sets him down, holding tightly onto his hand.

"Thank you." She says but a scowl seemed to be permanently pressed on her face. I nod and with that, the simple interaction had ended with us both going our seperate ways.

I found myself thinking a lot of Laura and Casey in the recent days.

I looked threw photo albums and pictures and videos. I needed to see their smiling face after all this time because it seems when they were brought up I could only remember how they looked when their bodies were laid in a heap on the concrete floor of the house Max Cobwell had beaten them to death in.

This was such a sad reality. I know, I don't have friends, but those were the two that came very close.

They were my best memories, but also my worse.

_I crept inside the house that I was positive Cobwell had taken them too. 'I will end it where it all started' he had said to me after I found out that he was responsible for abducting Laura and Casey. Where it all started? The house his parents abused him in. I held the gun up, hoping my back up would arive soon as I scanned the first floor before making my way up the stairs._

_Both floors showed no sign of any of the three or that they were ever there and I was about to leave until I heard the scream that I wished I hadn't. I knew then that there must be a basement._

_Without thinking, I took off, down the flights of stairs I went, greeted with the fresh scent of blood. I didn't stop though. I didn't even stall. Determination controlled me and I was stupid. I messed up. I didn't have myself properly guarded because once I caught sight of Laura and Casey and Cobwell was nowhere in sight, I lowered my gun._

_I was shot in the back lower back, my left side, and found myself in a puddle of my own blood watching as Cobwell emerged from the shadows, kicking away my shot gun before taking up the baseball bat and bludgeoning them again, repeatedly._

_They weren't even conscious anymore._

_Again and again he hit them and I couldn't move. I had to watch as I slipped in and out of consciousness until finally, he stopped._

_They were long dead and before I was completely engulfed in black, I heard him whisper sisterly,_

_"And you don't even get to kill me. I'm going to get away with this you know?"_

_I awoke some time later and I was holding the cold hand of their dead bodies. Their soul had long departed and I was left with their empty shell and my dying self._

_I couldn't move much._

_I couldn't breath very well._

_I couldn't even cry._

_I could only wait for the help that I thought would never come._

Suddenly, I snapped out of it. I snapped out of the wicked memory and realized I was no longer then 3 minutes away. Right on time as well.

I could see and hear the simple conversations of the regular people and I knew that, as I watched them, soon they would be married, or divorced, or become pregnant, or become famous or maybe even be destined for something amazing, yet there was the possibility they would die in some awful way...I truly think it was then that I really realized that soon, every person I brushed passed, every person I saw or heard had a family, had a brother, had a life and would soon enough be buried underneath the earth with a piece of rock to mark where their decaying body or empty casket lay.

People would visit as well. Brothers, sisters, friends, colleagues, children, grandchildren, parents, husband or wife and even the casual stranger may stop and pay respect. Yet one day, they would be gone as well and there would be no one. No one would be there to lay a rose or a daisy. No one would say a prayer and no one would remember you, because it may very well be that everyone you ever knew or ever talked to was somewhere in that area, underneath the ground as well.

And in that moment, a single part of my heart felt happy that perhaps, Laura, Casey and Sherlock were in a better place. Therefore they would not feel the same sadness that I feel and would not feel the emptiness in their stomach having lost someone that they held close.

I was there now. I was standing right in front of the diner and I felt that the walk or rather brooding session was much needed. Having thought everything threw, I can honestly tell you that I felt better. Even if it was only a little bit better, I still felt more alive then the girl that struggled to send a text this morning.

I glanced at the table before I caught a glimpse of the back of John, but he was not alone. My eyes flickered before I was filled with angst.

Angst, joy, confusion, anger, sorrow. They all washed over me like a tsunami wave and I could barely stand. I hoped my eyes did not deceive me but I didn't know if my heart could take knowing that Sherlock Holmes was alive.


	9. Chapter 9

His eyes caught my wide eyes and he stopped mid sentence. It only took John a second to follow his shocked gaze and they both saw me. Sherlock pushed himself out of the table, standing but it seemed as though he couldn't move.

Or maybe it was I who couldn't move.

Or maybe time had froze for that instant to let my mind catch up and my heart restart because honestly, since I saw him, my heart had stopped. Air was something unfamiliar. Tears greeted me like an old friend, smoothing my face.

Now Sherlock had started towards me and with it registering in my mind that he in fact was coming towards me, I took off.

Down the crowded London street I flew. Hitting bodies and tripping over cracks and gaps in the pavement. Faster, I insisted, You must go faster. But to be completely honest, I wasn't even sure if he had followed me.

My heart was loud, thumping heavily against my frail chest.

My eyes blurred, disabling my vision although this was nothing new.

My limbs ached because they hadn't taken this exercise in a very long time.

My ears blocked out the complaints and rude comments from every person I collided with.

My mind screamed, I was confused and I didn't do well against so many questions. Normally, I knew everything.

"Stop it!" I finally heard and it in fact was Sherlock. He had followed me. "Stop running Enna!"

I would not. I could not.

My next move was an alley way to my left that would hopefully take me somewhere...anywhere but here.

My hopes were let down for I found myself trapped. Although I could see it measured 50 by 20 feet, it was far to small for the both of us.

We both panted and by this time, the tears had dried. Continuously, he walked closer.

"Do not come any closer." I demanded but he payed no mind. "Stop, right there." I say again. I did not scare him as much as I should have, or as much as I wish I did. Finally, I found myself pointing a gun at his chest. "Stop you bloody idiot!" But even that had no effect. He came as close as he could get, his chest pressed against the top of my hand gun which shook from my unsteadiness. Finally, my arms dropped in defeat, or at least that's what I hoped it looked like. He took one more step and I swung my hand, the gun connected with his face and I tried my escape.

This had no effect.

He took hold of my wrist as I passed him and would not let go.

"Don't touch me!" I screamed bloody murder. "Get your filthy hands off me!" I fought and fought but it was no use. I was weaker then I used to be.

"If you promise not to run." He said finally. When I stopped fighting, he released his grip and I jerked my arm away. "To be completely honest, I hoped for a different reaction." My anger was at steady rise from this point forward. I clenched my teeth and marched towards him, pounding my fists against his chest.

"You're dead! You left because you were dead!" I scream at him pointlessly. "You jumped off a building and when I came home you were gone!" My hands did not stop hitting his rock hard chest until he caught them both and he could feel my tremors. This was when my knee's gave out and I was on the ground. Sherlock dropped as well, holding my hands in his, gently.

"I'm here now." His gentle voice wrapped around me like a warm blanket and spoke only to my soul. I looked into his piercing blue eyes and saw truth and the hard faced man I once knew looked like a broken porcelain doll that had been pieced back together. There was now a visible crack that showed weakness but also showed empathy.

I was angry, but I did not want to let this go.

Not ever again.

"Tea?" John asks me. I nod once.

"Please." I say, cuddling into the blanket he had given me when I arrived earlier. "How long did you know?" I ask as he sits across from me.

"Five minutes, if that." John tells me. "I was waiting and he sat down in front of me."

"Did you punch him?" I ask, hoping for a yes because I was frankly still enraged. He laughs slightly but I was dead serious.

"I didn't get the chance but I'm sure you got one in for me." He responds.

"I got 4 in for you." I say and he laughs again. I smile lightly before looking out the window. "Why did he do that?" I ask quietly.

"We'll get answers." He tells me. I nod and sniffle, my nose was quite stuffed up, my eyes watering and throat sore. I suspected I was catching a cold. I felt an urge of nicotine come on like it had been frequently in the last few weeks and I stand.

"I need to get some air for a moment. I'll be back." I say to John. He nods and I walk to the door, hauling on my jacket and then exiting the flat.

I stood in the cold for a moment, looking up and down the street before pulling out a cigarette and putting it between my lips, lighting it up.

I took a nice long drag and I suddenly felt...relaxed. I breathed out the smoke and took another drag.

"Stressed?" I nearly choke and start coughing out the smoke as Sherlock walks by. He watches me closely, holding the brown bag of groceries in his hands. I wipe my mouth find myself staring at him mystified.

I couldn't believe he was actually here still. I threw the cigarette butt down and stomped on it, putting it out. His eyes followed and he stared at it for a moment.

"I told you." he says looking up from the ground, a smirk spreads onto his lips. I cough again, this time into my sleeve and return a small smile. He carries on, walking past me and into the flat. I looked around for a moment until deciding to follow him.

"Thank you for supper," I say, realizing it was going for 8:00. "but I should go."

"So soon?" John wonders. I nod sadly, standing. Sherlock and John both stand as well and I make my way towards the door, taking my coat and hauling it on. "Would you like a cab fare?" He wonders. I shake my head.

"I'll be OK, thanks." I tell him. He nods and I turn to Sherlock. He clears his throat uncomfortably and turns his head slightly in John's direction.

"Give us a second?" He asks quietly. John nods in understanding, walking off and down the corridor. We finally hear a door shut when Sherlock looks directly down at me. "I uh," He looks stuck. I gave my normal patience before he looks up at me and smiles. "I'm happy to see you again."

It was short and simple and I guess I couldn't expect much more. I nod once.

"I'm happy you're not in fact dead." I tell him. He smiles lightly and that was my cue.

I turn, taking the door handle and pulling it open, making my escape to the closest bar to drown my pain and thoughts.


	10. Chapter 10

I jump at the echoing sound of my fax machine, waking me from my sleep. I turn on my lamp, struggling to find my glasses. I knock over at least 3 half drank glasses of waters as my hands feel around my end table, finally finding them on the ground.

I march over to the fax machine, displeased with the 8:30am fax, hoping it was important. It was.

Reminder for my doctor's appointment at 10:00. I took the paper and immediately shredded it as usual then decided to clean up the mess of water I had made.

10:00 rolled around and I was in the doctor's office, waiting impatiently, but believe it or not, I had made an effort to look presentable which I thought about getting back into now that Sherlock was home.

It hasn't been 24 hours and I'm already itching to call him, but I don't want to seem over eager. Not only that but it seems there are other, more important things to attend to then 'catching up'.

"Enna Burk?" the nurse calls. I stand and walk towards her and she leads me into another room, one with a bed and posters and a skeleton at the corner of the room. "The doctor will be with you in a moment."

I nod and wait as patiently as I was capable of, but I found myself quickly bored. I walked around the room, reading up on various posters that I already knew about and even tempting closer to the scale to weigh myself until Dr. Osborne stepped in.

"Why hello Enna, it's been some time." He tells me, smiling. I nod.

"It has. 4 months?" I confirm. He nods, taking a seat on a stool and looking at my charts.

"How are your eyes treating you?" He asks me, jotting stuff down in the file on his lap.

"Terrible to be honest." I respond. I wasn't going to lie because where would that get me?

"Well, as promised, we have your diagnostics, please take a seat." He tells me and I sit on the bed, my heart pounding anxiously in my chest. "You have, what we call, CRD. Without acronyms, Cone-rod dystrophy." To be honest, I didn't know what exactly it was. "Your vision loss is inevitable, at this rate, I don't give you much longer then one year and you'll be in darkness. I'm sorry, Enna."

I slumped and stared at the ground, my nose stung and my eyes teared up. My voice caught in my throat and I wasn't sure of what exactly to say. I had never had perfect vision, but to know that going completely blind was inevitable?

In one year, I wouldn't be able to do my job.

In one year, I wouldn't be able to get around without assistance, or send a text for that matter.

In one year, I would be completely useless and dependant.

"I'm so sorry you're being faced with this. I'll set you an appointment at 10:00 tonight with a specialist, grab the sheet of paper from the secretary on the way out." He tells me. I sigh heavily and catch my head in my hands, tears coming on harshly as the doctor leaves the room, leaving me in all my despair.

I sucked in the tobacco and nicotine, releasing the chemicals into the air. I was leaning against the side of a cafe' I had just been in while I tried to take my mind off anything but CRD. What was the point anymore? I wish someone would tell me.

"Enna Burk, consulting detective?" I hear from my left. I turn and a man dressed formally in a suit and tie, F.B.I no doubt.

"Yeah." I say, throwing out my cigarette. "Can I help you agent?" He was shocked no doubt.

"So you're as good as they say." He compliments me, but I was in the mood for anything but this. "Let's talk business."

"If you're here to drag me back into the bureau you can forget it." I snap, pushing myself off the wall and sticking my hands into my pocket.

"Ms. Burk, let's take a walk." He disregards my more then clear response and I clear my throat.

"Let's not." I respond, walking past him. "Taxi!" I yell, waving an arm to signal one over. I jump in and without thinking, tell him to take me to 221 Baker Street.

I knock on the door lightly before pushing it open. "Sherlock? John?" I wonder, looking left and right.

"It was quite funny though, to be honest. I'ld be laughing if it were to happen now." I hear John's happy voice from the kitchen and a chuckle from Sherlock.

The apartment wasn't in it's regular gloom and doom atmosphere. It was warm, welcoming. There was a candle light that sent an attractive aroma into the air and a tender light poured from the dining room and kitchen while there was nothing lit in the living room. I was greeted with a happy scene of John and Sherlock cooking and smiling and being, well, happy.

And in that moment, my mind was somewhere else. My mind was in a more hospitable place.

"Enna!" John says excitedly. Sherlock looks up and smiles at me gently. I fake my biggest smile.

"Hi boys, I hope you don't mind me stopping in." I say.

"Of course not! Come join the fun!" John tells me. "Would you like to cook the spaghetti?"

"It would be an honor." I respond, starting at it. It was then that John flicked on the T.V that sat on the dining table. The news was on and Sherlock was plastered all over the screen. It was about his brilliant fake death and how genius he was all along.

"Turn this guy off, honestly, I'm sick of hearing about him." Sherlock says, chopping the vegetables. John smiles and puts on a music channel.

"Where have you been all day?" John wonders curiously. "I've been calling to get you over for dinner." It was then I remembered my phone was left in my apartment on my washroom sink.

"I left it at home," I tell him. "I was working a case." I lie. I hadn't had a case in a few days, but today was a touchy subject that didn't want to be touched.

"A case?" Sherlock wonders. "Have you been working a lot of cases?" I could already see jealousy stamped perfectly clear on his forehead.

"I have. Kept me busy." I respond. He nods simply, looking back down at the vegetables. "They miss you," I tell him. "I was only a substitute for the real thing, you know." He looks up at me nodding a very small nod as the corner of his mouth twisted up into a faint smile.

"I'm sure you have been doing fine." He assures me, cutting a carrot. I shrug.

"I'm no Sherlock Holmes." I reply and I could tell the flattery was about to make him cocky.

"But you are Enna Burk!" John intrudes. "That is was as close to 'The New Sherlock' as they got."

"What do you mean, 'The New Sherlock'?" Sherlock asks, stopping with the knife all together.

"While you were gone," I begin. "there was a lot of...hype." I put it nicely. "The media demanded a 'New Sherlock'. John was paid a lot of money to write about me and label it, 'The New Sherlock'." I tell him. I could almost see his face beginning to turn red with anger. "But he labeled it 'The New Unpertaining, Controversal Sherlock'."

"You chose words that I described you as." Sherlock says, shocked at the very least. I grin and look down at the spaghetti I was cooking, trying to wipe it off my lips. "Does that mean I'm right?" He asks me. I laugh slightly and shake my head, the grin was now a small smile and I was very truly happy.

We ate the well cooked dinner in anything but silence. John was the happiest I have seen in years as he talked on about anything and everything to Sherlock. I could tell he was straining to listen and agree and sometimes give his opinion. Sherlock wasn't a naturally a social person so it was hard.

I think he almost wanted the silence that came towards the end of dinner, I was quick to ruin that though.

"So, do we get an explanation?" I wonder, seriously. He looks up from his surprisingly empty plate and then glances at John who was staring at him intensely. He wanted the story as much as me, not possibly more. Sherlock clears his throat and wipes his face with a napkin before facing us again.

"Moriarty had men with perfect aim on you both. If I didn't jump he would have shot you both. Molly told me how to jump so that I wouldn't actually kill myself and just, injure myself." He tells us.

"I took your pulse." John interrupts him. "You didn't have one."

"John, I did." Sherlock says. "You were so disorientated from being hit by the bike you wouldn't have noticed to be frank." I watch him now, more intently as John stays quiet. I wait for a second but it seems as though he wasn't going to continue.

"So why?" I ask. "Why didn't you tell us? Why wait until now?" He looks in deep thought before looking at me once again.

"It's complicated." He says. I don't know if it hurt hearing this, or if it confused me. I think it was more anger then anything because I just stared at him, displeased...but John's anger took it's tool and from down the table I could almost hear the snap.

"It's complicated?" He asks. "No, Sherlock it isn't." He was standing now. "Do you know what was complicated? Enna's drinking problem and her smoking addiction. That was complicated. Not why you couldn't have taken a little weight off of our shoulders and came bloody clean!" I shuddered, closing my eyes at his loud and cracking voice. "My loneliness was complicated, Sherlock! How very alone I was...that was complicated. Not this, not why you watched us, two people who truly care about you, tear our lives apart because we believed you were dead. You made us believe that." I looked up and he looked gobsmacked. At least until he composed himself and his guilty conscious washed him down.

"It wasn't easy for me either." He states. "The fall broke 4 ribs and my nose. I had to attend to my own injuries and lay still for 2 months while carriers would deliver food in secrecy. It then took another month to bring down Moriarty's network so that you would be safe, and I could come back."

I look to John and tears were rolling down his cheek. I reached my hand to his upper back and patted it.

"I was protecting you." He says.

"I didn't think I would see you again, Sherlock." John mutters before wiping his cheeks and sitting back down next to me.

"You did." He says simply. John nods and gives a weak smile before there's a knock on the door. I stand before Sherlock can.

"I'll get it." I say and walk to the door. I turn the doorknob and Greg is standing there, blood shut eyes and wet cheeks.

"Is it true?" He asks me, shaky voiced. I step aside and motion him in. He walks past me and stops in sight of the dining table, assuming he saw Sherlock because all he did was stare. "You bloody genius!" He says, walking swiftly for him. I close the door and go to see the happy scene of Lestrade smothering Sherlock in a hug and Sherlock trying to return it.

John laughed comically and I smiled, watching as Lestrade let go of him.

"When you want a case, you let me know!" Lestrade says. "I've got quite a few." Something went off in Sherlock's eyes, excitement.

"He will." John assures Lestrade as the door bell goes again. I walk back and open the door to Anderson and Sally Donovan.

"The freak's alive?" Sally asks me and she had definitely been crying.

On top of that it seems her and Anderson had an adult sleepover if you know what I mean. I nod and step aside, letting herself and Anderson in. I follow and watch as they catch Sherlock's figure.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to stay away." Sherlock's cocky voice says and I roll my eyes, laughing a little. I'm about to close the door again I hear someone else.

"Hello Enna." Molly is standing in the doorway.

"He's in here, but I'm sure you already knew that." I say to her. She looks at her feet.

"I didn't." She responds. "I wasn't sure if he survived the fall." She looks up at me and smiles, tears like tsunami waves stream down her cheeks. "I'm so glad he's OK." I step aside and she walks in.

I close the door and walk into a heart warming scene of Molly's arms wrapped around Sherlock and I could tell she was crying.

"I'm so glad you're OK." Molly tells him threw sobs and finally lets go, wiping her eyes. He smiled and nodded.

"I'm glad I had you, Molly." He tells her.

That hit me.

He had Molly in his time of need.

He had John to hold on and let go of him.

Mrs. Hudson was supporting him in every way she could, of course she had no idea what was going on, but she was there.

And where was I?

I was sulking and drowning myself in self pity. I was brooding and relaxing and taking long baths and trips down the canal's in Venice.

Sherlock was facing a mad man with the help of everyone but me.

I chewed my lip and looked away, guilt filled me to the brim but I had to push that aside for now.

"Enna, come join us." Sally tells me, motioning me into the group. I was about to step in when the appointment came to me. I looked at the clock which read 9:00. I sighed and looked back to her when I realized the whole group was waiting.

"I would, I really would, but I have an appointment." I tell her, or rather them. Everyone seemed to have dropped their own conversation to join ours.

"For what?" Lestrade wonders curiously. Well, this was one way of letting everyone know my diagnostics.

"It's for my eyes." I say straight faced. "I was diagnosed with Cone-Rod Dystrophy today." I say. "I'm expected to go blind in about a year." Everyone was quiet. I guess they couldn't process it or believe it or maybe it was just so shocking that they were speechless. I was staring at my feet before I looked up for an instance and then turned, my eyes began to water.

I left without another word and I wish had said something. Anything. It was such a downer and I had ruined the welcome wagon for Sherlock. I looked around as a Taxi rolled into sight. I threw my arm up, trying to wave it over, but it missed me. I sighed heavily, trying to signal another before,

"Enna!" Sherlock was calling out to me. I turned and did my biggest and most fake smile.

"Hey Sherlock," I respond, trying to maintain the smile. "what are you doing out here?" I wonder and see he wasn't even wearing a coat or his signature scarf. "You'll catch a cold."

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asks obviously upset.

"I didn't want to think about it, and when I got there, you and John were so happy. Was I supposed to interrupt that and say, 'Hey guys! I'm going to be blind in a years time!'?" I respond. "I just to didn't want to think about it, I'm sorry." I apologize.

"I'm coming to the appointment with you." he tells me.

"Sherlock, everybody was there to see you."

"They saw me. I'm going." He says and I knew there was no point in fighting. He walks past me and hails a taxi with ease, opening the door for me and I sit inside.

I opened my apartment door and flicked on the rarely used light. My apartment wasn't that messy considering I was rarely ever there. It wasn't spotless with that said. I had papers and case files all over the place along with half drank glasses of water. My bed was made and it was a bearable mess.

"Your apartment is nice." Sherlock tells me. He had insisted on coming home with me after the appointment to see the apartment.

"Thank you. I wanted something with a view." I tell him and he walks to window. I watch him glance out it and see the city lights that I overlooked.

"It's quite a view." He responds, staring. I walk to my kitchen, putting my glasses in the sink to make it look a little more clean.

"That's why I chose it." I tell him and watch him walk towards me. I start organizing my papers that were spread across my 'bar' and Sherlock watched me.

"Are you OK?" He wonders finally, breaking a silence between us. I look up at him and shrug.

"I don't know." I say. "It doesn't feel real." He was stuck obviously, not knowing what to say that would show that he felt sorry for me. I didn't want his empathy to be honest with you. I just wanted to sit on the couch and read a book. I wanted to be alone but I didn't want to be lonely. To be completely honest with you I wasn't sure what I wanted.

As for what I didn't want, I didn't want to go blind.

"I can't imagine." Sherlock says simply. "I can't." Our eyes locked for a minute and by surprise, his face started to come closer to mine.

Like magnets, our faces came continuously closer until it happened. Our lips touched. It was soft until it grew deeper and stronger, harder and faster. He grabbed my face and I hoisted myself over the bar and so we were on the same side. He had to bend down in order to kiss me, but it was nice. It wasn't an awkward first kiss that you have on a first date. It was a strangely familiar and weak in the knee's kinda kiss.

I was melting in his arms until his strong arms hoisted me onto the bar so he wouldn't have to lean down so much. I snaked my arms around his neck, and it was truly perfect.

"You don't need your eyes for this."


	11. Chapter 11

I woke up the fax like every other morning, but this wasn't a regular morning. This morning I was wrapped in the strong arms of Sherlock Holmes. He didn't stir at the sound so I slipped out of his grip, gently so not to wake him, and walked to the fax machine. Blur. I turned, making my way around the apartment, hands out in front of me (mornings were my worst when it comes to my eyes) so not to bang into anything as I felt for my glasses. I remember laying them on my counter last so that's where I went.

I found them and pushed them onto my nose, blinking and looking threw the clear glass. I walked over to the fax again, the patter of my bare feet were the only noise heard threw my nearly empty apartment. I took up the 15 odd papers. From Lestrade with a note that read, Only if you're interested, don't press yourself. Can I get you to come to the station at 9?

I put the papers down and looked at the clock. It was eight o'clock. Sherlock was sleeping soundly in my bed and I found myself sighing heavily. I went to my bureau, pulling out jeans and a loose t shirt which I hauled on quickly then took a piece of paper and jotted down, Back by 11 -Enna

Upon arrival, Lestrade led me to a conference room where I was met with Agent Labranski from the F.B.I. The same Agent Labranski that was head investigator on the murders that involved Casey and Laura. I forced myself inside and Lestrade closed the door behind us, allowing privacy.

"Labranski," I say flatly. He's 36, only a few years older then myself, bachelor and strikingly handsome, cocky and annoying.

"It's been some time Enna." He says.

"I prefer you address me formally Agent Labranski, Enna is what my friends call me." I reply staring at him straight faced. He was amused as a smirk appeared on his face.

"I'm not a friend?" He asks, hints of fake offence in his tone of voice.

"Not quite." I say back then look to Lestrade. "So this is why I'm really here?"

"No, it's about the Home run murders." Lestrade responds. Oh yes, the 'Home run murders' is what the papers labeled it, isn't it? How simple minded. Because the victims were beaten with a baseball bat and it took place in a residence, not clever at all.

"Get on with it then." I say, looking at both the men before Labranski speaks up.

"We found Max Cobwell's body." He tells me.

I didn't really have a specific emotion at the moment. I readjusted my stance and stared at the ground before looking back up to Labranski, finally finding words.

"It looks like some bastard bet me to it then." I reply, my teeth clenched tightly. I'll admit, I was a little angry I didn't get the chance to shoot him myself, but then again, he's dead. It was half relief, half mixed feelings.

"No, you see, He's been dead for over a year and a half." Lestrade pipes up. My head snaps to him in .7 seconds flat and I look gazes with him.

"What?" I ask, rage was quickly filling me to the rim and my blood boiled. I was close to letting everything loose, every emotion that was slowly taking me over was soon going to come out all at once.

"He didn't commit any of the murders. It was someone else." Labranski states the obvious. "We do have a leading suspect though."

When I got back to my flat, I was flustered, red cheeked and watery eyed. I pushed the door open and Sherlock was getting dressed, buttoning up his blouse and our gazes locked. It was a long, 5 second stare before I looked away and walked into the kitchen. I sat at the bar stool, my head rested itself in my hands and I was struggling to calm myself down.

"What happened?" His raspy voice asks me, walking up behind me and taking a seat in the bar stool to my right. I stared at the counter, shaking my head slightly.

"Max Cobwell isn't responsible for the murders," I tell him quietly. "they think it's you."

"Who?" He asks.

"The F.B.I." I reply and we lock gazes. He raises his hand and puts on the side of my head, pulling it towards him and he plants a kiss on my forehead. He lets go and I turn away so not to show him my blush.

"I'm going to fix this." He assures me before standing and walking back to where my bed was. He hauls his suit jacket on and then takes his coat. I watch him sadly as he hauls it over his shoulders and leaves, not saying another word.

I sat at the counter and thought everything over. We were positive it was him, I was positive it was him...I blamed him all along. I detested him and even hoped he was burning alive in Hell...but when he shot me...I didn't even see his face. I can't recall his voice and it's driving me nuts as I try to remember what he looked and sounded like.

I knew the picture that they had put out as an APB but...I wanted my own image, I wasn't going to get that though, because he's dead. And he's not responsible for the murders.

That phone ringing startled me awake and it was then that I realized I had passed out at the counter. My hands fumbled for the phone which I quickly pressed talk, not bothering to check my caller ID.

"Burk." I say sleepily.

"Enna," It's my mother. "why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?" I ask her annoyed.

"Tell me about your CRD." She replies.

"Well, there wasn't a lot of time between the diagnostics and meeting Sherlock and finding out Max Cobwell didn't kill Casey and Laura." I spat, resting my head in my left hand while my right one held the phone to my ear.

"Sherlock is alive?" She asks. I was silent. "Oh doll."

"Yeah," There was a silence from both lines. "mom, I'm going to be blind in a year." I mutter.

"Connor! Book my flight to London!" She shouts. "I'll text you the flight details, I should be in by tonight."

"Mom,"

"Don't try and fight me we both know how that will end." She snaps and the line goes dead.

I stare at it and sigh before there's a knock at my door. Boy, I'm popular. I put my phone in my jean pocket and walk to the door. Upon opening it, Mycroft stands there, looking in at me.

"Hello Enna." He adresses.

"Mycroft." I respond curtly, stepping aside and allowing him entrance. He steps in and looks around.

"You had company." he notices, looking at my bed. I roll my eyes.

"Don't play dumb, I'm sure you had people following us." I reply and lead him to my lowsy excuse for a living room. It consisted of 2 recliners and a small T.V sitting on a smaller entertainment system. I sat on one of the recliners and Mycroft claimed the other.

"I heard about your, condition." He says. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you really here?" I ask him. He looks out the window and the crowded and gloomy london streets.

"My brother," he begins. "is suspected of murdering your friends."

"I'm aware." I respond and he turns to look at me.

"You were the last person to see that man."

"If you want to know what I remember I was shot in the back, so not much."

"I want to know what you are willing to do for Sherlock."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Agent Labranski has the power to arrest Sherlock. You were the only one who survived Max Cobwell, would be willing to try hynosis to remember him?" Mycroft asks me. I swallow and look away, thinking about what I do remember. "You, are Sherlock's sole chance." Mycroft adds. "They have evidence that could lead to his convinction."

"What evidence?" I ask him, worry obvious in my voice despite my attempt to hide it.

"I wasn't aloud access to the information." He tells me. I sigh, exasperated. "What is your choice, Enna?" I take off my glasses and rub my eyes, thinking hardly. "If you can't, I understand."

I look up to Mycroft and he looked genuinely worried to my surprise. I looked out the window and then took a deep breath.

"So, Ms. Burk, I understand you are having some repressed memories." The therapist says, jotting down notes.

"I am." I respond and feel John's hand on mine. I look over and he smiles reassuringly.

Mycroft told me that Sherlock wouldn't agree to letting me do this, no matter what the circumstances. I didn't need to be told, that was obvious. He told me I could and should go immediately while Sherlock was entertained. Of course, I needed someone at my side and that is where John came in.

"Mhm." She says to herself, glancing threw my records. "CRD?" She askss surprised. I nod and she continues. "You've been shot on 3 seperate occasions...Lasik eye surgery...you were in therapy?" She confirms. I nod.

"I was diagnosed with depression after the...incident. I was in therapy for 3 months." I respond. I feel John's stare but I ignore it. "I'm fine now." She nods.

"Yes it does seem so." She replies and lays her note pad to the side of her. She was sitting on a rolly stool across from me, John was sitting in a comfy seat to the left and I was sitting on a bed. My feet dangled off the edge and she removed her glasses. "So, Ms. Burk, I'm going to get you to lie down on your back now please." I glance to John quickly and comply. "That's perfect," She tells me and I restrain from rolling my eyes. You asked me to lie down not preform an open heart surgery. "now close your eyes and start to drift."

I looked at her sceptically before I agree and shut my eyes lightly.

I stayed like that for a good 4 minutes with minimal movement and I felt as though I were in limbo. I was patient and wasn't really thinking on anything imparticular. I faintly thought about drinking a glass of vodka with Laura and Casey and then that began to slip, and I thought about having a glass of red wine with Sherlock...but that went quickly and left me in a dark feeling of insignificance.

'Hello Enna, can you hear me?'

Somewhere in the back of my mind knew who it was, but my lips couldn't form the name with left me with just a simple reply.

'Yes.'

'Great, I'm going to ask you to go to the basement. When I count down from 10, you'll be on duty and on the way to rescue your friends.

10,

9,

8,

Deep breath.

7,

6,

5,

Just breath, remain calm Enna or I swear,

4,

3,

2,

Breath.

1.

'Where are you? Take a look around.'

I did and realized I was standing in the stair well, the longer I waited the more things I noticed that I hadn't before. I saw the smeared bloody hand print on the wall along with the scratches on the hand rail. I could see the man hauling Casey and Laura single handedly. The scratches belonged to Casey and the hand print, Laura's.

'I'm about to ask you again, where are you?'

'I'm on the stair well.'

I whispered to the voice and began the long journey down. With every step, I shook, I gripped the gun in my hands tighter and tighter.

'Good, now proceed, give me the information as you keep going, at anytime if you don't feel safe, let me know and I will help you.'

'I see...I see a lot of blood.'

I saw a puddle at the bottom of the stairs and now, I caught glimpse of the beckoning bodies of my battered friends. The only thing holding them together was the restraints. I urged and felt my eyes begin to water.

'I don't want to be here.'

My heart was racing but I kept moving forward.

'Now Enna, remain calm. Remember, what you are seeing is a simple memory. You are safe. What are you seeing?'

'Their bodies...Casey and Laura and bond to the chair and their horribly beaten.'

Then, Bam. I was shot. I could almost feel the pain again as the bullet hit lower back, left side.

'I've been shot,'

I could hear the panic in my own voice as I stared down the ground and struggled to get to aim my gun. It fumbled in my hands before a foot was swung up and kicked it out of my hands. My blood pooled around me quickly and I was impaired.

'I've been shot!'

'Now Enna stay calm! None of this is real! You aren't actually there!'

'He's got me. He knows who I am! He's here!"

'Enna! Take three deep breaths and focus on the important things, who is the man Enna?'

'I-I can't tell!'

I was screaming at the voice, I was shaking and trembling and becoming overwhelmed with frustration. It was bluring, in and out. I was slipping into black and then brought back to the horrid scene in front of me. I squinted just to see him swing the bat, hitting the head of Laura a few times before moving to Casey.

'Their dead, why are you still doing this?'

It was directed towards him and I think I may have actually said it, because he turns. My eyes catch his and I see his face. Not one I recognize but forever now burned into my mind. And he smiled and knelt down in front of me, lifting up my chin.

'Because it's fun.'

He dropped my chin and my face hit the ground. I was covered in a dark sheet of unconciousness which I clawed at until my hands seemed to turn bloody. I needed to see it, I needed to see him again.

'Enna Burk, what do you see? You need to tell me what you see! If you wake there's a strong chance you will not remember it please tell us!'

I finally could see a light again and the pounding of footsteps. Not this man's, not the murderer's, but a new mans.

'What have you done?!'

I knew that voice. I lifted my head. Cold. I squinted. Blur. I opened my mouth to speak. Incapable.

'You...killed them. You killed them, why?! No matter, what's done is done. We must leave.'

I choked on my own sobs, blood came pouring out of my mouth and he knelt down to my level.

'And you don't even get to kill me. I'm going to get away with this you know?"

He tells me and my head finally drops, for good this time. No strength left in my body. Black engulfs me and I was tremoring.

'Take me out of here! Please! I need to leave this place!'

'I'm going to count to 5 and you will wake,

1,

2,

3,

4,

5,

Wake!'

I shot up straight as a board and looked around frantically, people were saying things to me from both directions and I couldn't concentrate on any one thing until there were two sturdy hands on my shoulders.

"You're safe! You're OK!" It was John and had a tight grip on me. Before I could think for a moment longer I had thrown myself into his arms.

My breathing hitched often while trying to calm down. I couldn't keep tears from streaming down my face and the woman, Dr. Odell, had fetched me a cup of tea to 'calm my nerves'. There was no calming me at this point.

I was a mess.

I was a total and utter mess.

A dissapointment.

A regret.

"Enna, would you like to tell us what happened exactly?"


End file.
